


Running Up That Hill

by IceQueen1



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate series, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fitz and Ward as friends, Fix-It, Gen, Grant Ward Feels, Grant Ward Isn't Hydra, Grant Ward Redemption, Grant Ward whump, Heavy on the angst, Hellfire Grant Ward, Human Experimentation, Hurt Leo Fitz, Leo Fitz Feels, Lots of Hurt and comfort, Medical Trauma, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mostly hurt, Not Slash, Protective Grant Ward, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sorry Not Sorry, Whump, dude I just like to beat up my two favorite SHIELD agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 104,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceQueen1/pseuds/IceQueen1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant Ward's fall from grace leads him on a path no one expected of the double agent, least of all, Leo Fitz. Now that they're both prisoners of HYDRA, Fitz has to wonder at the game Ward is playing. Or if it's a game at all. Fitz and Ward Whump, no romance/slash, mentions of torture and past abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Running Up That Hill**

_You don't want to hurt me_  
But see how deep the bullet lies  
Unaware I'm tearing you asunder  
Oh there is thunder in our hearts, baby  
Is there so much hate for the ones we love  
Tell me we both matter don't we  
You...  
You and me  
You and me, you won't be unhappy

~ _Running Up That Hill_ , Placebo

* * *

They always assume that we don't know what happened to us. That we don't know how far we've fallen. That we knew what we were doing the entire time.

They're not wrong.

They're not right, either.

There's some of us who believe in the Cause. It consumes us, it becomes us, and it is all that remains even after we do not.

And there's some of us who don't believe in at all, but we try to pretend because we don't believe in anything.

I have really no excuse. I started life hating it. My oldest brother tortured my younger brother and me, and used me as the instrument of his hatred. Mom and dad weren't any better. Some crusaders believe that my home life was the beginning of my spiral downwards. That I can't be blamed for what I did or how I behaved because I was raised believing hate was all there was in the world. They think there's something salvageable about me.

There's a reason why they have a saying about old dogs and new tricks.

I'd never found a reason to turn against Garrett. Scratch that – there were a lot of reasons to go against him. But there wasn't anything to feel that gap. With Garrett, I had a mission. I had a purpose. More importantly, it was a purpose that I seemed uniquely suited to. I was very, very good at being bad. Garrett, Coulson, Fury…it didn't really matter who I worked for because the end result was the same – to do as I was told. More often than not, I was told to do some pretty awful things. Blame HYDRA all you want, but no one noticed that SHIELD was being slowly taken over by the enemy, and if the Director can't tell the difference between the bad guys and the good, why would us poor foot soldiers notice?

Working for Garrett wasn't exactly what I would call fun. He wasn't the nicest guy, and failure was not an option. I saw what happened to those who failed, and while I may not be particularly fond of my life, I preferred it over being dead. Compared to a lot of HYDRA agents, I had a relative amount of freedom. At least I wasn't cryogenically frozen until they needed me in the field. Singling down my loyalty to one person made life considerably easier. Some people ask WWJD – I had my own version.

If HYDRA hadn't gotten so ambitious, I might've gone down with the ship, Hail HYDRA as my dying words. But they did. And they sent me to work for Coulson. A man that was supposed to be dead offered me the chance at life.

Real life.

I'd never had one before.

I didn't know what to do with it.

Coulson's team made it easy. They were so trusting, so open, so… _human_. I didn't realize that's what made them dangerous.

They start to make you question. They start to make you care.

They start to make you _change_.

I don't handle change well. Never have. Probably never will. And I don't mean change jobs, pick up and move across the world on a whim, I mean change who I am. I have never cared about people. Never. I don't love my family. I didn't follow Garrett out of some misplaced sense of paternal loyalty and affection. I don't believe in HYDRA, I don't believe in SHIELD.

I believe in nothing.

Nothing matters. Nothing is what I owe my loyalty to. Alliances are bought and sold, love is won and lost, and justice is as fictional as American Dream of freedom.

People are deluded to think otherwise.

But then Coulson brought me in. There were Fitz and Simmons and May and _Skye_. They drove me crazy with their act of friendship and loyalty and how they were working for a better world, a higher purpose. They couldn't possibly believe that, could they? How naïve could they be? I didn't understand who they were trying to convince, me or themselves.

In the end, it didn't matter. Because I started to _believe_ in them. That maybe not everyone was an act. Not everyone was filled with the same terrible _nothing_ that I was. Their opinion started to matter. _My_ opinion started to matter. And I found myself stumbling over the knowledge of everything I knew, everything I had ever done, compared to their idyllic views. They weren't faking their beliefs. That innate goodness was a part of them, a part of all of them.

And the more I was around it, the more I was around _them_ , the more I realized there was a terrible hollowness in my very soul. I was the darkness in their world. I saw the way Skye started to look at me. I started to feel the same. I didn't want to be a better man because of Coulson. I wanted to be the man she thought I was. I tried to warn her. I tried to tell her I wasn't a good man.

But she didn't believe I was bad. She believed I was good. And I had seen the power of her beliefs. They could change the world. They could change _me_.

How did a good man live with the terrible actions of a bad one?

Answer: they don't.

Bad men kill good men, and that was exactly what I did.

I've never felt guilty about my actions, except where my younger brother was concerned. And I don't know if that's guilt so much as anger.

I felt guilty about Fitz. I felt guilty about Simmons and May and Coulson.

And I was nearly undone by Skye.

When Coulson killed Garrett, I don't think he realized the relief I felt. I was unburdened of any sense of loyalty I had to HYDRA after Garrett was dead. For the first time in my life, I felt free. I was free to do as I wanted, to _be_ what I wanted.

And I realized all I wanted was to be the man Skye believed I was before.

May and Coulson held up their promise after they took me into custody. There was torture. There was pain. There was blood, broken bones, and chemicals that lit up my brain like a Christmas tree on fire. They made it very clear I was free to make choices, but I was not free from the consequences of those choices.

I took it all. I wanted to be the man Skye thought I was all along. It was what kept me alive in the end, despite the many times I wanted to die.

Up until they agreed to turn me over to Christian.

I have been tortured my whole life – my mother, my brother, behind enemy lines and in the service of my country and by my mentor.

None of them have haunted me the way my older brother did. It was the one truth about my life I ever shared with Coulson's team – with Skye. They knew what he did. They knew what he made me do.

And there were still willing to hand me over for the sake of making a political alliance.

Any sense of loyalty, or what I thought was desire to earn their respect, evaporated.

You want me to be the bad guy? Fine. I'll be the bad guy.

Everyone who ever had a hand in deciding who I was, what I was, was eliminated. My mentor was already dead, thanks to Coulson. In the end I suppose I still owe Coulson a thank you. It was his decision that set me on this path. It was what set me free.

My parents and my older brother followed.

I am not a puppet or a weapon.

I am not a good man or a bad one.

I am myself for the first time in my life.

I am free.

 _I am_.


	2. Chapter 2

"We're hollow like the bottles that we drain[]  
We might be hollow, but we're brave"

\- _400 Lux_ , Lorde

* * *

"He tortured and brainwashed Bakshi into be willing to die for him in a matter of weeks," Jemma protested. "How did he learn how to do that? What kind of…of _monster_ can do that to someone?"

Kara's dark gaze flicked between Skye and Gemma, her forehead creasing as she frowned. "How do you think he learned it?"

Skye scoffed, making a slight huffing noise. She couldn't blame Kara for being so reluctant to believe the truth about Ward. She knew what he could be like when he turned on the charm, and he hadn't been actively trying to brainwash her. "Because he's a HYDRA agent. That's what they teach you. They teach you how to torture and mess with people's heads."

Kara's face fell, looking horrified.

"Look, we know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth. Ward wasn't trying to help you, he was just using you," Jemma said, putting a placating hand on Kara's arm.

The former special agent yanked her arm away from the gentle touch. "You don't understand. _None_ of you understand. I want to talk to Grant." She glared up at the security camera in the corner of the medical bay. "Let me talk to Grant."

Skye and Jemma glanced between each other. Skye subtly nodded towards Kara, and Jemma shrugged.

"Ward didn't come back from the mission," Skye explained again. "He left you behind."

Kara's eyes widened, her gaze flicking to Jemma who confirmed it with a quick nod. "You lie," she whispered. She turned angrily on Jemma, her eyes welling with unshed tears. "You tried to kill him. You tried to kill him when all he's done is help me, and Bakshi got in the way. That's why he didn't come back."

"He wasn't helping you out of the goodness of his heart," Skye said, crossing her arms.

"He helped me when SHIELD abandoned me like some broken toy," Kara yelled. She pulled angrily against her restraints. "You left me to die after Whitehall destroyed me! You didn't even _try_ to help me!" She wrenched at the bindings, hard enough she was going to have bruises. "Where were you when I needed you? I gave my _soul_ for SHIELD, and you left me like it was all my _choice_!"

"Whoa, easy there," Skye soothed, holding one hand out. She wasn't entirely sure what she should do, and glanced back over her shoulder at the door. Where was Coulson and May when they needed them? Weren't they supposed to be watching?

"Shut up!" Kara shrieked, her beautiful face twisted in rage as tears coursed down her cheeks. "Coulson tore the world apart looking for you! You have no idea what it's like to be abandoned by the people you gave your life to!" She wrenched at the restraints, and something creaked as it started to give way. "We didn't choose this! We didn't have a choice! We were torn apart and unmade and destroyed and you acted like it was our _fault!_ You thought we were weak! You thought we were unworthy of being saved!"

"Coulson!" Jemma shouted, sticking her head out the door. "May! We need you!"

As quickly as the rage came, Kara slumped against the raised pillow of the hospital bed, as if she was a puppet whose strings were cut. She continued to cry, but her tears were silent as she turned her head into the pillow. Her shoulders shook from sobbing, and Skye and Jemma stared at one another, completely at a loss as to what to do.

"All he wanted to do was help me," Kara whispered, sniffing quietly. "He said I didn't deserve what happened. That I didn't deserve to turn out like him."

That caught their attention.

Ward didn't exactly express regret last time they spoke. In fact, he'd seem disturbingly okay with his current role in the vast and complicated web of HYDRA versus SHIELD. He didn't even apologize for trying to kill Fitz and Simmons.

The door to the room slid open, and Coulson appeared. He didn't say anything to them, just jerked his head in the other direction, indicating for them to follow him.

As they trailed after him, Skye cast a worried glance over her shoulder at Agent 33. She was as curled up as she could manage, continuing to cry softly into the pillow, and Skye could only feel pity for the once strong agent. Ward had done a real number on her, and she still thought of him as her protector.

"What were two even doing in there?" Coulson demanded as soon as they closed the office door behind them. "I told you not to discuss Ward with her, and you did the exact opposite. Care to explain why you expressly ignored a direct order?"

Skye was taken aback by the ferocity of his question, and immediately went on the defensive. "She kept asking about Ward. What were we supposed to do, lie to her? Keep lying to her like he did?"

"You weren't even supposed to be in there, and I gave that order for a reason," Coulson said. "Neither one of you can be objective about Ward right now, and I don't blame you. It's also why I told May to stay away from Kara, but at least she listened to me. Skye, you can do with taking a page from your SO."

"But he –" Jemma protested, and was immediately cut off with a wave of Coulson's hand.

"I don't care what he did to you, _either_ of you, right now. I understand the betrayal, really, I do. I picked him for the team and entrusted him with your training and protection. But right now, it doesn't matter what he's done to you or to me, because you need to understand that it doesn't change what he did for _her_." Coulson gestured to the plasma screen displaying Agent 33's profile. His expression softened momentarily. "She has every right to be angry with SHIELD right now. We blamed her for the actions of HYDRA when she didn't have any control over herself, and we abandoned her when she needed us. She is still a SHIELD agent, and right now, Ward has done more for her than we have. _That_ is what you need to be ashamed of. Telling her that the one person who helped her is a monster doesn't help her at all, and that's precisely what she needs. _Help_."

Jemma's cheeks flushed pink, and Skye suddenly found the floor very interesting.

"If I tell you two again to stay away from Agent 33 until she can talk to an actual psychologist that isn't on HYDRA's payroll, will you listen this time? Or do I need to restrict your access badges?" Coulson asked, glancing between the two of them.

"We'll stay away," Jemma promised quietly. "We're sorry for upsetting her. Could you tell her that?"

Coulson sighed. He knew the two meant well, how sharp the blade of betrayal was in your back, but they weren't ready to deal with their own feelings about Ward's status as a reluctant and unpredictable ally, never mind those of a psychological victim of HYDRA. "Just keep away from her, okay? And stop trying to kill Ward for the moment. He might be of more use to us alive, and he's the only one who knows anything about the inner workings of HYDRA that is willing to talk to us."

Jemma hurried from the room, eyes downcast as she returned presumably to her lab. Skye moved to follow, but hesitated at the door.

"Coulson?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Agent 33…she said we didn't understand. But when she was talking about what Whitehall did to her, she said _we_. What did she mean?" she asked hesitantly. "Did we miss someone?"

Coulson sighed, dropping into his chair as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "No. And yes. HYDRA did the same to all their agents. No one was exempt if Whitehall and Garrett didn't think they were true believers."

Skye felt a cold knot form in the pit of her stomach. She licked her lips. "You mean…when she asked how we thought Ward learned how to torture people like that…how to brainwash into someone willing to die for him in a matter of weeks…"

Coulson shrugged. "I thought it was obvious. He knows because it was done to him."


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't been asked to go into the field. He wished, probably for the hundred thousandth and fifty sixth time, that he'd told Coulson and Gonzalez to suck it when the asked if he would break into HYDRA's network, which had to be done on site because apparently they were starting to wise up to the fact that open networks and wireless were easily hacked.

If Skye was around, he would've volunteered her, and he wouldn't have felt evenly marginally sexist about it. Skye was a trained field operative – first by the marginally psychotic Grant Ward, and then by the incredibly psychotic Melinda May. She had a much better grasp on network hacking and encryption than he did (she outsmarted SHIELD for a while as the Rising Tide, after all), and more importantly? She had magic goddamn powers. She was a one woman army in every sense of the word.

But noooo….they couldn't send the Golden Child of SHIELD into the lion's den. Nope. In his less charitable moods, Fitz wondered when everyone else became expendable in the pursuit of locating and protecting Skye. So instead, being the last person who understood the complex system of networking and firewalls and mind boggling amounts of encryption surrounding HYDRA's base system, Fitz got to go instead.

He ducked around another corner, swinging his backpack onto his back as he ran back towards the other exit he'd memorized during the briefing.

Something ricocheted off the wall by his head and he darted right – HYDRA seemed to have developed their own version of the Night, Night Gun, which he supposed he should be grateful for. Instead of killing him outright with a bullet to the back of the head, they would stun him, capture him, and then slowly torture him to death.

"Exit compromised, May, get me out here!" he snapped through the comm link. Broken static and an impatient May crackled over the ear piece, and Fitz growled in disgust. No more field ops. He hated them. He hated them, he hated them, hatehatehatehate _hated_. The only one that hadn't gone to hell was the one he'd gone on with Ward back in the early days of the team, when they disliked each other for totally different reasons.

"There he goes!"

"After him!"

"Don't let him leave the building alive!"

That last one Fitz found particularly reassuring. At least they _might_ kill him up front instead of slow death by torture.

He turned another sharp corner and flung open the first door he found unlocked and ran face first in to someone else. The very last person in the world that he wanted to see.

"Fitz?"

Grant Ward looked even more surprised to see _him_ , if that was even possible.

"Are all those sirens for _you_?" Grant asked. He looked genuinely surprised.

"Like you didn't know," Fitz spat back, glad that no trace of his stutter was heard.

Ward shrugged, dropping his gun to his side, his other arm behind his back. "I assumed they were for us. I thought I was pretty good about not tripping any of the alarms though."

Fitz scowled. " _Us_?" he repeated.

"Let's go," Ward said, and started off in the other direction. "If they're chasing you, then that exit is no good. This way." He jerked his head to indicate he should come along.

"You can't honestly think I'm going to follow _you_?" Fitz protested.

"At least for a little while, unless you go back the way you came, which is right into HYDRA's main security forces," Ward pointed out evenly. "Your choice, but we're going this way."

Fitz hesitated briefly, mentally cursing that Ward was right and really, his only option for survival was to follow the rogue agent. He trotted after him, keeping a safe distance away just in case this was just another attempt at killing him.

The very definition of the phrase "the devil you know".

"Why do you referring to yourself in plural?" Fitz asked, voice hardly more than a hiss. "Finally snapped for good?"

Ward glanced back over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth quirked in a condescending scowl. "Now, now, be nice. And I say us because I'm not alone."

Fitz pulled up sharply. "Who else is here?"

"Keep up, Fitz," Ward said, not answering. "And say hi to Fitz."

A small head popped up over Ward's shoulder, and Fitz was so shocked that he almost plowed straight into Ward's back as he abruptly stopped. The girl couldn't have been older than four or five, and she was small enough that Fitz hadn't seen her when he ran into Ward in the first place. Except, if he was carrying her in front like that, he couldn't have missed her, and he didn't shift her to his back once they were walking.

"What are you doing with a _kid_?" Fitz sputtered. "What are you even doing _here_?"

"Short version?" Ward asked, cautiously peering around the corner. Satisfied the coast was clear, he started moving forwards again, and Fitz had to run to keep up. Those extra five inches Ward had on him were all leg. "I'm kidnapping her."

" _Kidnapping_?!" Fitz echoed.

"There's a longer version, too. If we live, I'll explain."

Fitz worked his jaw several times, but decided on saying nothing. He wasn't a complete idiot – whatever Ward was up to, he was trying just as hard to avoid the HYDRA special ops teams as he was, which means he was working against them. However the child was involved, it couldn't be good.

"There they are!"

"Shit," Ward swore, ducking and spinning around so fast he and Fitz almost smashed heads. "New plan."

Several blasts from the redesigned Night, Night Gun skimmed over their heads, barely missing them. Ward hunched low, one hand wrapped around the girl and the other on his gun.

"Take her." Ward shoved the girl into Fitz's arms, not even waiting for him to confirm he had her before turning back towards the encroaching agents. He fired three shots and Fitz heard three thumps.

The girl barely weighed anything, and Fitz could feel her ribs through too thin clothes. This close, he could smell she hadn't been bathed in a while, and she'd recently been crying.

"You got her?" Ward asked, not risking looking back at Fitz. He kept on alert, his eyes constantly sweeping back and forth, searching for the next threat. "If you can't carry her, tell me now, but I'd like to keep both hands free."

Fitz nodded mutely, before realizing Ward wasn't looking at him. "Yeah, yeah…I got her." He held her tighter, and she squeezed her thin arms around his neck.

"Let's go."

This time Fitz didn't even hesitate. He followed closely on Ward's heels, stepping over the bodies of the fallen HYDRA agents. HYDRA might be using the Night, Night guns, but Ward still had bullets.

"Good to know I'm not the only friend you tried to kill," Fitz muttered.

"You take things way too personally," Ward said. He swept another room, gesturing for Fitz to follow.

There wasn't a warning. There were no shouts to freeze or to surrender. Ward suddenly turned on him and shoved him violently to the side, seconds later collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

The girl whimpered against his neck, and suddenly she was gone. Vanished. He could still feel the weight of her against his chest, her arms around his neck, but she had disappeared.

 _She's a gifted person_ …Fitz realized belatedly. He raised his hands immediately, feeling the girl cling to him with her legs around his waist and her arms tightening to keep herself from falling.

Out of thin air, a team of six heavily armed HYDRA commandos melted into view, as if using the same cloaking technology as the quinjets.

"Well isn't this a double bonus?" one man mused, pulling his combat glasses off his face.

The man was distinguished looking, and if Jemma had been with him, 'posh' might've been the word she used. He looked closer to a corporate CEO than a foot soldier, hair graying at the temples and otherwise, almost blue black. His eyes, on the other hand, reminded him of a wolf – calculating and predatory. "I was hoping to just capture Coulson's favorite lab monkey, and I instead get HYDRA's wayward son."

Fitz felt his heart beating wildly against his ribcage, and could feel the girl shaking against him. He prayed she stayed silent and invisible where she was.

"Mr. Fitz, I believe you have something of ours," the man said, smiling pleasantly. His accent sounded less German, leaning more towards Austrian. In Fitz's head, all HYDRA agents sounded like the Nazis.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fitz managed, swallowing convulsively.

"We know Ward took her from her cell," the man said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And he would never leave her behind."

Fitz shook his head. "I'm a computer person. I don't know what you're talking about."

The man glanced down at Ward's crumpled form. "We _were_ trying to hit her," he said, predatory gaze flicking towards where the girl huddled against Fitz's chest, quaking. "But Ward has always been a bit of a wild card. Unpredictable. Unstable. I suppose it makes sense, given what Garrett put him through. But I'd always hoped that he would realize his compliance would be rewarded. Last chance, Mr. Fitz. Release her, and I'll let you scurry back to your precious Director Coulson. I can always come back for you later."

Fitz braced himself, sucking in a defiant breath between clenched teeth. "Never."

The man sighed. "Fine. Have it your way." He turned his face to the side, talking into a radio attached to his shoulder. "Alert the team they have another volunteer."

Fitz had barely any time to register what he could possibly mean when something sharp struck his arm. He didn't even hear the gun fire.

The effect was disturbingly fast – Fitz didn't even feel himself fall.

The last thing he heard was uncontrollable, terrified sobbing …and wondered what the little girl knew that he didn't.

He was about to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

Fitz felt sick. Seasick, to be exact. Like he was in constant motion even though he was positive he was lying perfectly flat and perfectly still.

Wherever he was, it was absurdly bright, even through closed eyelids. It was also oddly silent, and neither hot nor cold, which surprised him. He was expecting torture already with fluctuations in temperature. Maybe a rude awakening with some early morning waterboarding.

Fitz tried to fake unconsciousness as long as possible, keeping his breathing even while straining to hear anything out of the ordinary.

There was nothing.

After what felt like hours, he gave up on the pretense. He cracked his eyes open, shielding them from the glare with his hand as he struggled to sit up and look around.

The room was much larger than he was expecting – almost the size of the conference room on the Bus, and everything was smooth, blinding white. The entire ceiling was one massive overhead light, giving the room the appearance of the surface of the sun. But where Fitz expected horrible torture equipment like surgical tables and things that only made sense in his terrified imagination, there was absolutely nothing except the bed he was currently on. Even the term bed was a little bit of a stretch. Cot might be more accurate – just a thin piece of white canvas stretched between a metal frame about a foot off the floor. His clothes and backpack were gone. He was now barefoot in hospital scrubs.

He tried not to think about the fact someone had stripped him when he was unconscious.

The fact that there was nothing to be afraid of made it worse. Now he wondered what he could be missing. Were there hidden traps? An entire hidden goon squad, courtesy of that chameleon cloaking technology they'd surprised them with? Was the floor electrified? Poison gas ready to descend from the vents?

Fitz closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, willing his heart to go back to a normal level instead of nearing tachycardia. He was alive. He was alive, unhurt, and alone. At least for now, he seemed to be perfectly fine. He could panic when there was a reason to.

Hopefully the team came and got him before there _was_ a reason, but he allowed for a margin of error.

Until then, he would be calm, and cool, and rational. He was a scientist, and an engineer. He could, and would, get through this. It certainly wasn't as bad as being locked in an escape pod, thrown out of a plane and sunk to the shallow part of the ocean to slowly asphyxiate and die.

 _Happy thoughts, Fitz_ , he thought to himself, gritting his teeth. It was times like these he missed his imaginary stand in for Jemma. She was always helpful in a crisis.

As he let his mind drift for a moment, there was a faint hiss and the pressure in the room dropped, which he hadn't even noticed was present until it was gone. A panel of the wall, roughly large enough for two people shoulder to shoulder to step through, sunk down, and slid to the side.

The man from earlier, the posh CEO soldier, stepped through and the door slid shut almost immediately behind him.

Instead of dressed in combat gear that put Talbot's soldiers to shame, the man was dressed simply in a pale blue work shirt and slacks with a white doctor's jacket, stethoscope around his neck and clipboard in hand. Thin, wire framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he studied the paper on the clipboard.

He would've looked like a harmless general practitioner if it weren't for the few flecks of bright red blood on the sleeves of the coat.

They looked fresh – vivid crimson instead of darkened maroon.

Fitz fought the urge to recoil, and remained what he hoped appeared indifferent on the cot.

"Mr. Fitz," the man greeted cheerfully, just as any doctor would. "Glad to see you finally up. I was beginning to worry your previous brain damage was causing complications. Any dizziness, nausea, problems with your vision?"

Fitz didn't answer.

It hardly seemed to bother the doctor. "I ask for your benefit, not mine, Mr. Fitz. Or perhaps you would prefer I call you Leo? Intel says you prefer Fitz, but I'm willing to allow for a margin of error. People are so unreliable. I prefer Magnus, personally, over Doctor. Much less formal, don't you agree?"

Again, Fitz remained silent.

The doctor, Magnus for now, scribbled something on the clipboard. "Perhaps you're wondering why you're here. We were so hoping that you would come instead of Skye. True, she is an enhanced person and they are always fascinating, but they're so hard to contain. Especially ones like her. But you, Leo, are much more interesting to me."

"There's nothing interesting about me," Fitz said. He blurted it out without even really thinking about it. The thought was just too absurd to ignore.

The doctor smiled. "Ah, there's that accent I've heard so much about. The ladies are already quite fond of you, you know. I believe the term they used was 'adorable'."

Fitz felt his ears turn pink in embarrassment.

Magnus pressed on, scribbling something else on the clipboard as he talked. "You shouldn't discredit yourself, Leo. For one thing, your engineering creations are bordering on the same level as Mr. Stark. I hear you reverse engineered the cloaking device to use on your Bus and the quinjets, and that was _after_ your TBI. One of your inventions, the Mouse Hole I believe, even saved Director Fury's life when under attack by the Winter Soldier. Very impressive, Leo. Very impressive."

Fitz wasn't sure how he felt being complimented by a HYDRA scientist. He cleared his throat. "And the second thing?"

The doctor glanced up. "Second thing?"

Fitz shrugged, keeping his face neutral. "You said 'for one thing'. That implies that there is more than one thing."

Magnus beamed. "Quite right, Leo. Yes, the second thing – you've managed to overcome your disability almost entirely on your own. You have minor speech aphasia and lingering muscle weakness in your right hand, but you're steadily improving, notably on your own. However, what I am _most_ curious about is the change in your personality."

 _That_ was not what Fitz was expecting. "Pardon?"

Magnus couldn't keep his smile off his face, and instead of looking pleasant and friendly, it made him appear manic and off balance – the very definition of a mad scientist. "You were quite the pacifist, weren't you, Leo? Until Agent Ward left you to die and robbed you of your magnificent mind. I hear you turned off the oxygen to his cell to show him what it was like for you, is that true? And now you've attacked him at least once, even though you were supposed to be working together and he is at least half a foot taller than you."

"He did try to kill me and my best friend, murdered several agents in cold blood and killed his brother _and_ his parents by setting their house on fire. And that's only the _recent_ things he's done," Fitz pointed out.

"And yet when you ran into him in this facility, you followed him as if it were the most natural thing in the world," Magnus countered. He again scribbled something on the piece of paper.

"Ward is a survivor," Fitz said. "I don't trust him to save me, but I trust him to keep himself alive."

"So nothing to do with that big brother relationship you used to have?" Magnus asked.

Fitz's reaction was instantaneous and without thought as his face screwed up in disgust.

The doctor chuckled. "Probably a good thing you don't consider him a brother anymore, considering how he treats his biological brothers. His sister on the other hand…" he scribbled another note and Fitz wondered if he was going to run out of paper shortly. "I almost wish we'd gotten her instead, but hindsight is always 20/20."

"Speaking of 20/20, what's with the twenty questions? This feels like my interview for SHIELD."

Magnus chuckled, and Fitz wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. "Well, Leo, it _is_ almost an interview. You are a fascinating person. You're an engineering genius, which is why we wanted to recruit you in the first place. But until recently, your behavior had no flags to indicate you could be a part of the program. With your TBI and hypoxia, normal methods of changing your mind were unavailable to us."

There was a coldness spreading across Fitz's skin, like something oily trying to smother him, and he fought the urge to fidget and shudder. The doctor's cold, predatory gaze studied every reaction like he was an insect being catalogued for study, and no matter affable his tone was, Fitz was very, very aware he was addressing a wolf in human skin.

"I'm not joining HYDRA," Fitz said.

Magnus outright laughed at that. "Dear boy, you _already_ worked for HYDRA once, and you didn't even notice. How bad could we be? How different from SHIELD if you couldn't tell the difference?"

Fitz felt his temper rise. "I work for _Coulson_ , and _Coulson_ only. If you think you're going to convince me otherwise, you might as well just kill me now."

Magnus sighed, and scratched something out. "You and Ward. I will never understand your allegiance to _people_ instead of ideas. This is about _science_ , Leo. It's about the very future of our race. With your mind, you can help shape that future – and what could be better for a scientist like yourself than to be one of the founders of the new world?"

"A world shaped by the ideals of a long dead, insane Nazi scientist who believed in magic and the occult and called it _progress_ isn't a world I want any part of."

"HYDRA is more than the ideals of the Red Skull, Leo," Magnus said, pointedly glaring over the top of his glasses. "Just the same as the United States have changed since the founding fathers, HYDRA has changed since the Red Skull."

Fitz glared right back. "Not from where I'm sitting."

"You _could_ be sitting where Ward is." Magnus tapped the clipboard against his open palm. "We're not monsters, Leo. We would prefer that you help us willingly. Your compliance will be rewarded."

"I am _not_ happy to comply," Fitz snarled.

The doctor sighed. "Perhaps you need a demonstration of what _non-_ compliance achieves. Belligerence will not be tolerated, Leo. Not at all."

"Torture me all you want, I'm still not going to help you. I would rather die. Are you willing to lose me after all the hassle of kidnapping me in the first place?" Fitz already knew the answer, and it was a desperate gamble on his part. He knew it, and worse, most likely so did Magnus.

"Honestly, Leo?" Magnus said. "Yes. You may be the preferred candidate, but you are certainly not the _only_ candidate."

Fitz felt his heart sink. So his options so far were to join HYDRA's engineering division willingly, or be tortured until he either gave in or died as a result.

He really, really hoped that the team was looking for him, wherever he was.

Instead of answering, he jumped tracks. "Why was Ward trying to kidnap a little girl?"

If Magnus was at all bothered by the jump in conversation topics, he didn't show it. "Ward is a particularly challenging individual. Garrett may have caused more problems than he solved by bringing him in and taking over his training and not using the Faustus Device. Without an owed debt or alliance to anyone in specific, he's unstable, irrational and unpredictable. Without the trigger code to activate him, Ward must have a preexisting relationship with whoever gives him a directive. Garrett's methods were messy, but they were effective. Unfortunately, it means Ward is very aware of what happened to him, unlike the Faustus recipients, and he now feels it's his obligation to make sure that there is no one else subjected like he was. If it wasn't so annoyingly counter-productive, it would be a fascinating case study."

Fitz's mouth went dry. "But instead…?"

Magnus waved his hand dismissively. "The Faustus Device won't work on him now. They're trying alternative methods. We might be able to start from scratch and hopefully salvage some of our investment, but it's unlikely. And right now, I think our agents are a little upset at him for all the trouble he's caused in the last few months. Notably the hand he had in the death of Whitehall, and the escape of the two enhanced people we captured out our southern base."

Fitz swallowed, trying to get any moisture he could back in his mouth. "So that…that blood is…?"

Magnus looked at his sleeve where the splatters were beginning to dry and turn rusty brown. "His, yes." The doctor glanced back at Fitz to gauge his reaction. "Does that bother you? That we're hurting him?"

Fitz couldn't breathe. "No," he whispered.

Magnus shrugged. "It seemed to bother him when he thought we were doing something to you. Strange. I would've bet money it would be the other way around. Oh well." He shrugged again, and turned to leave, tapping his clipboard, covered in scribbles now, tapping against his open palm. "Think on our offer, Leo. It's an invitation only so long before it becomes mandatory."

The invisible door opened, allowing Magnus to step out. Before they could close again, the doctor called over his shoulder, his voice an almost sing song: "Your compliance will be rewarded."

The door slid shut with a hiss, leaving Fitz very, very alone.

He let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, and sagged forwards, forehead against his drawn up knees. His hands shook, worse than they ever did after his accident.

Magnus didn't sound like he was lying, but it would make sense if he was, trying to manipulate Fitz's feelings. Ward wouldn't be concerned about him. It didn't make sense. _None_ of this made sense.

Ward was HYDRA. He'd allied with HYDRA when they tried to overthrow SHIELD. He tried to kill him and Simmons. He killed Hand and countless others during the takeover.

And yet, more recently, reunited Skye and her father. Helped save Agent 33. Used his own twisted sense of right and wrong to get Bakshi to help them save Skye's friend and Mike Peterson from HYDRA's base. And even now, when Fitz saw him last, he was trying to save a little girl from HYDRA's labs.

He scrubbed a shaking hand over his face, trying to keep his breathing even. Who did he believe? Magnus? Ward? Right now he didn't even know if he could count on the team to find him before he was killed, given the situation between Gonzalez and Coulson fighting for director position of SHIELD.

He started to rock back and forth without realizing it, trying to muddle through his own thoughts. He needed Jemma. He needed _someone_ to talk to. He wasn't Skye, he wasn't May or Bobbie or Mack– he couldn't go through this alone.

The faint hiss of the door reopening had Fitz jumping to his feet, hands behind his back as he tried to hide their uncontrollable shaking.

Four HYDRA soldiers stood in the middle of the opening, the ones on either end with assault rifles at the ready, while the other two held another person between them, dressed in the same hospital scrubs as Fitz. Another 'doctor' stepped in front of them, wearing a similar jacket as Magnus, except this one had more red than white. He stood silently for a moment, surveying the room, gaze settling on Fitz.

"It won't work if he's unconscious. Keep him alive, or you'll be the one who takes his place," the doctor said, German accent thick and choppy. English clearly was not a first language for him.

He snapped his fingers, and the two support guards dragged their prisoner forwards just far enough his feet were inside the door and dropped him bonelessly in a heap on the floor. Another snap of the doctor's fingers, and the five of them retreated back into the hall, the door sliding shut behind them.

The body didn't move.

Neither did Fitz.

In the silence, Fitz could hear its ragged breathing as it hitched and rasped, painful sounding even to him. And he could smell copper and burnt hair.

It still didn't move.

And neither did he.

Not until the body began to shake, uncontrollably as it flopped and flailed about like a fish out of water, gagging on its own tongue. Not even Fitz could ignore that, and without thinking about it, he rushed to their side, dropping to his knees even as he skidded on the growing pool of blood and turning them sideways in case they threw up.

Grant Ward was almost unrecognizable. One entire side of his face was a violent shade of purple, most of the bruising centered around his eye, which was swollen shut. There was blood everywhere – Fitz wasn't even sure where all of it was coming from.

The part he was more concerned with was the shaved part of Ward's skull that now sported an external cranial electrode like the ones found on lab rats. Blood matted the hair around it, almost invisible against the black. It was recent, and it was not gentle.

As soon as Ward's seizure ended, he crawled just far enough away to throw up everything he'd eaten in the last several days, continuing to dry heave for several minutes when there was nothing left to throw up.

He didn't care what Ward had done. No one, _no one_ deserved to have their skull drilled into just so that some deranged scientists could torture them more efficiently.

Magnus's words came back to him – " _Perhaps you need a demonstration._ "

Message received. And it was loud and clear:

Non-compliance will not be tolerated.


	5. Chapter 5

_"_ _There's a reckoning a'coming_  
It burns beyond the grave  
There's lead inside my belly  
'Cause my soul has lost its way

_Oh Lazarus, how did your debts get paid?_   
_Oh Lazarus, were you so afraid?"_

* * *

Ward didn't know where he was.

He was fairly positive he should be dead. Nothing responded when he tried to move. Not his eyes, not his tongue, not his limbs. Everything hurt too much to tell if it was because he was still restrained in the Training Room, or if there was something was wrong with him.

He wanted to laugh at that thought. Of course there was something wrong with him. There was always something wrong with him.

He suspected he dreamed. At least he hoped they were dreams. Thomas was with him. Sometimes he was the one behind the goggles and the drill. He didn't mind. After what he did to Thomas, the kid had more than earned the right to a little payback.

Sometimes Thomas was sitting next to him, running cautious and untrained hands over the multiple injuries he'd inflicted, stuttering an apology in a heavily accented voice. Those dreams were less okay. They made less sense. Every time he felt the hands, heard the frantic apologies, he flinched. If he could move, he would slap the helping hands away.

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He couldn't form the words to tell Thomas to leave him. This was okay. He didn't have to apologize for what he did to Grant because he had done so much worse to Thomas.

Few sentences drifted through the haze he found himself in. Mostly it was turns of phrase that would make a sailor blush. He didn't know Thomas swore like that.

He also wasn't sure when Thomas started referring to him by their last name.

Other times he heard Thomas yelling at someone about medical supplies. Those unanswered pleas were what made him want to get up. Open his eyes. Do _something_ because he had a lifetime of doing _nothing_ to make up for. He tried to tell Thomas not to worry.

Instead of words, all he managed was a whimper. Thomas panicked even more.

"Jesus, Ward, how are you even _alive_?"

Because the one thing he never took the easy way out with was dying.

"I'm not a doctor! I barely passed first aid!"

That's okay, because he knew enough about patching up his own injuries. Thomas didn't have to worry about it.

"Shit. You're shivering. I don't know if that's because you're cold, or you're going in to shock."

A little bit of both, really. He suffered through them both often enough that he could tell the difference. As he lost blood, he lost body heat. Less blood circulated. His temperature dropped.

Cautious, gentle fingers prodded along his skull.

This time the whimper wasn't because he was trying to speak and failing miserably.

It _hurt_.

"Come on, Ward, I just need to see how bad it is."

Bad. It was bad. He couldn't even remember what happened. He had vague memories of being thrown face first onto a table, head twisted to one side. Mask jammed over his face and something sickly sweet that filled his mouth and lungs until he couldn't move and couldn't think but still felt. The sound of a drill and the warmth of blood through his hair and in his eye and pooling underneath his face. He was grateful for the mask – he thought he might've drowned in his blood without it.

And after that…

Nothing.

He knew the memories would come back slowly. Even when they told him he would forget, he never did. Not for long.

He made the mistake of letting them know he always remembered. After that, he was a favorite of the Research and Science division until Garrett made him a permanent field operative.

It took forever for the shakes to go away every time he went to medical.

"Oh hey, whoa… _shit_. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I didn't know. Shhh…"

The cautious and gentle hands were gone.

"God, I can't do this…"

He could. He knew from experience he could. Didn't mean he wanted to. He wanted to curl over on himself. He wanted to hurt them the way they hurt him. He wanted Thomas to keep talking but stop touching. He wanted lots of things, and this was not one of them.

But if one of them had to do it, he was glad it was him and not Thomas.

He heard a door slide open.

"If you want him alive, you have to help me! He's _dying_!"

Is that what was happening? He could feel his teeth chattering, the bone aching chill that numbed his limbs, the rapid and thready beat of his heart.

His head _hurt_.

"I thought you didn't care if he was hurt?"

He flinched, hard, at the sound of _that_ voice.

"I – I don't. But you said if he died, I would take his place. I care about _that_."

He wasn't surprised by the words, but they hurt just the same.

"You are a terrible liar."

"Believe what you want. Do you want him to live or not? Because if you leave us here like this, he's not going to."

He must look pretty awful then. He's glad he can't get his eyes to open. He doesn't want to see what's been done, what new scars he'll have once the bruises fade.

"Are you ready to comply? Compliance will be rewarded."

There was silence, and he thought maybe Thomas nodded instead of answering out loud.

" _Fuck you_."

His lips twitched in proud big brother approval.

"Is that a no?"

No answer came, and instead he heard the door close, and the tearing of fabric.

"If I accidentally kill you, I'm not sure I'm going to be sorry about it, but I don't really want to be here alone. So…try not to die, okay?"

Scratchy hospital scrubs material was pressed to the back of his head, and the world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color, every nerve ending igniting with sheer, unadulterated agony. Adrenaline surged through sluggish limbs and he fought with everything he had. It didn't make any difference and he felt himself being dragged and pulled across the floor. He wasn't ready to go back. He wouldn't survive another round. Not this early. He couldn't die and leave Thomas alone. Not here.

He was dropped onto a cot, falling face first again and he panicked. No. He wouldn't live this time. He'd lost too much blood and too much time and he just _couldn't_. He pushed himself up again, but his body failed him yet again. One arm collapsed under him, and he fell awkwardly on his side. He tried to sit up, but hands stopped him, pushing him back down.

"Ward! Stop it! You're fine, you're fine, you're not going anywhere!"

He wasn't going anywhere because he was already here. Any minute Christian would be back and Thomas would be gone and his brain would be one fire and he'd be drowning and this time he wouldn't make it out. They wouldn't stop in time.

"No, no, no…don't do this again. Stop, Ward! You're bleeding everywhere!"

He didn't care. Blood loss was just as good as any way to go.

" _Shit_ …where can I touch you that it's not going to hurt?"

It didn't matter if it hurt if they were going to kill him. He would be dead, and Thomas would be next. Before they could stop him, he shoved himself back upright, latching on to his brother as well as numbed limbs would allow.

"Do you just not want to lie down?" There was a pause, and he heard Thomas hiss. "You're still bleeding pretty badly. This is going to hurt. But it needs pressure to stop."

Thomas pressed the wadded up cloth against his head, and Grant couldn't stop the choked whimper. He pushed his face against his brother's shoulder, fisting his hands in his shirt as he held on to him.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts. I know, I know," Thomas soothed. He sounded desperate but trying to keep calm. "God, you're freezing."

Thomas used his free hand to rub his back, trying to force circulation of what little blood Grant had left.

"If someone had told me yesterday that I would be hugging Grant Ward while he cried in my arms, I would've laughed," Thomas muttered. It was quiet enough he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear the words, but Thomas's chin was resting just near his ear. There was a quiet chuff of laughter, and Thomas's chin dropped to Grant's shoulder.

"I don't feel like laughing now."


	6. Chapter 6

Fitz stared blankly at the wall. It soothed his frayed nerves and allowed his mind to go as blissfully blank as wall.

The smell of copper and lingering sickness still permeated the air, but they hadn't sent anyone in or offered any supplies for clean-up.

At least Ward was finally unconscious. He couldn't call it sleep, because sleep was supposed to be restful and natural. Instead, Ward's body just gave up. He still trembled occasionally, but it was like aftershocks instead of the constant shaking from shock and blood loss.

As horrible as it was, keeping an eye on his progress was Fitz's only way to judge time. Assuming Ward was as healthy as a rogue agent as he was when he was with SHIELD, then it had been nearly six hours since he'd been dragged in and dumped.

At least unconscious, Ward couldn't feel anything. The makeshift bandage Fitz made out of the torn hem of his overly long scrub top was long soaked through with blood. He didn't dare remove it though, in case the dried, delicate scabbing came with it and it started to bleed again.

Fitz scrubbed a tired hand over his face, fighting off exhaustion. He didn't trust himself to sleep. Not with Ward still in the same room, no matter his condition, and definitely not within the walls of HYDRA's research prison. Besides, Ward's six-three frame took up the entirety of the only cot. His feet even hung off the edge of it. Instead, he sat against it, back supported uncomfortably against the metal frame. He was far enough out of Ward's immediate reach if he tried to move, but close enough to hold him back if he had another round of seizures.

Fitz didn't care _how_ tired he was. There was no way he was crawling into bed with the backstabbing former friend who tried to murder him. Who left him with a crippling gap in his mind he was still working on bridging. It was hard to reconcile the bloody, tearful mess of a human who clung to his shirt like a life line to the same agent who jumped from a plane without a parachute and lived to tell the tale. Hard, but not impossible. While Fitz may not be willing to watch another person die in front of him if he could help it, he was nowhere near forgiving Ward.

His right hand trembled against his face as he shielded his eyes from the incessant overhead light. He knew it was a tactic to rob him of his sense of time. No windows and no way to judge day from night meant he had no way of knowing how long he'd been awake, asleep, or how much time passed.

He glanced over at Ward and started when he realized dark eyes were open, staring back at him.

"Warn a guy, would you?" Fitz grumbled.

Ward blinked slowly, not answering immediately. The swelling in his face had gone down so he could see out of both eyes again, but the spectacular purple, black and red bruising spread from his temple down to almost his chin, disappearing into his hair line. He worked his jaw, trying to swallow and wound up coughing.

"No water," Fitz explained, waving his hand to indicate the empty room. "Not that I would drink anything they gave us, but I can't offer you anything."

Ward's dark eyes flitted around the room, obviously looking for someone.

"We're still alone," Fitz said. "And I haven't seen or heard about the girl since we were captured."

Ward frowned, and Fitz could swear he looked disappointed when he realized they were alone.

"You're not my preferred company either, thank you," Fitz said. "I'd feel better trapped with an actual monkey then one of HYDRA's failed attempts at a trained one."

It was a low blow, but Fitz didn't care.

However, instead of looking mad or hurt at the insult, Ward's dried and cracked lips quirked into a funny sort of grin, his eyes sliding shut again. "You and monkeys," he rasped. Despite how awful he sounded, like broken glass and sandpaper, there was a trace of fond amusement in the statement.

Fitz felt the tips of his ears turn pink, and he ducked his head. "Monkeys are awesome," he muttered defensively.

"You were our little monkey," Ward said, exhaustion making his Massachusetts accent thick.

Fitz remembered when Ward had first called him that – it wasn't an insult then. It was a fond nickname for a little brother complaining about paperwork and cataloguing.

It was an insult now. It was a slap in the face about their entire relationship as a team. Ward had never cared about any of them. What he thought had been an affectionate nickname from an older brother was a mocking slur.

"Shut up," he snapped.

The ferocity of the words surprised Ward, and his eyes snapped open, frowning. "Sorry?"

Fitz turned towards him. "No, no. You don't get to be sorry. Not now. Not for something as stupid as that. You betrayed us, Ward. You tried to kill us, and you helped the enemy. You're a monster, so you don't get to say sorry, and you don't get to bring up the past like it meant something."

Ward's eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself up to a sitting position. He swayed dangerously for a moment, and he closed his eyes. When he reopened them, anything resembling the familial fondness was gone. The Ward that was an agent of HYDRA glared back. "You have very short term memory, Fitz. So does Skye. _I_ didn't want to be on the team. _I_ argued it from the beginning. _Hill_ and _Fury_ put me on the team. _I_ told you I wasn't a nice person. That I wasn't a good man. _You_ don't get to blame _me_ for telling you the truth just because you don't like it."

"You're a killer," Fitz snapped. "A cold blooded murderer. I don't know how I could be surprised you turned out to be a traitor."

Ward leaned forwards, wincing as he did so. "You were okay with me being a killer when you thought I worked for SHIELD. So I guess it's the _who_ more than the _what_ I was that you don't like." He was mere inches from Fitz's face, dark eyes scanning over every feature, cataloguing and calculating every reaction Fitz had. "If it wasn't the killer part that bothered you, what kind of a person does that make _you_?"

Fitz clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. He switched tactics. He didn't have to defend himself. He could go on the offensive if he needed to. "Who's Thomas?"

What little color Ward had vanished. "What?"

"You kept calling me Thomas. What, was he a HYDRA buddy of yours?" Fitz asked, unable to keep the sneer out of his voice. "Was he someone who trusted you to have his back? Or did you kill him too?"

"Don't say his name," Ward growled. "Don't _ever_ say his name."

Fitz smirked. "Hit a sensitive spot, did I? What're you going to do, bleed on me?" He held up his hands, which were covered in Ward's dried blood. "Because that's about all you're capable of right now."

Faster than Fitz would've thought possible, Ward's hand shot forwards, latching onto his throat and squeezing painfully tight.

Fitz coughed, pulling at Ward's surprisingly strong grip.

"I'm still capable of killing you, Fitz, if you ever speak that name to me again," Ward snarled, eyes cold and dark – every inch the professional assassin. He gave Fitz's head a slight shake, indicating he could just as easily snap his neck as crush his throat. "Understand?"

When Fitz didn't answer, Ward released him, collapsing back onto the cot, breathing hard. He stared straight up at the ceiling, his hand over his eyes to shield against the light above.

Fitz rubbed at this throat, scooting further away and out of reach.

They remained silent; the only sound in the room was Ward's ragged breathing, hitching every couple of breaths. It honestly sounded like he was trying not to cry, but this was _Ward_. Ward didn't have emotions. He didn't form attachments. It didn't make sense that just a name would set him off like that.

Unless it was someone close to him.

Mike Peterson only worked for HYDRA because they had his son. Maybe this Thomas person was their leverage against Ward?

Fitz shook his head, disgusted with himself. Even now, after Ward _literally_ threatened to kill him again, he was trying to excuse his behavior. Besides, even if it was true, why would Magnus and that creepy other doctor be torturing him? Well, besides the obvious that they were complete psychopaths with questionable medical degrees.

"What's their interest in you?" he asked. He pulled his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs.

"What do you mean?" Ward asked, exhaustion clear in his tone. He kept his hand over his eyes, breathing steadily in through his nose and out through his mouth.

"Why are they even bothering with…that?" Fitz gestured at Ward's head. "I thought HYDRA was all about the easy outs when it came to problem employees. Why don't they just kill you and be done with it?"

"They probably will," Ward said matter of factly. "But like I keep trying to tell you, I was a SHIELD agent a lot longer than I was associated with HYDRA."

"So what, they want intel?" Fitz asked. "And you would rather have _that_ in your head then tell them? I thought you hated SHIELD."

Ward sighed. "I don't hate anyone, Fitz. Not anymore. And they would've done this to me anyway, even if I spilled all my secrets the second I woke up."

The thought was more than a little horrifying, and Fitz's stomach rolled. "But… _why_?"

Ward chuckled, dark and without humor. "To teach me a lesson."

Fitz swallowed dryly, his mouth feeling like the Sahara. "That no one goes against HYDRA?"

"That everyone breaks," Ward said.

"They couldn't have broken you too badly if you still turned against them. Or…whatever it is that you're doing," Fitz pointed out hopefully. Maybe there was a chance they'd still get out of this – while not whole, at least alive.

"Everyone breaks, Fitz. That's the point. It took them twenty years, but they broke Barnes. They've improved their techniques since then. They'll get creative. They'll use standard methods at first, even though they know they won't work on me just to have a baseline. Then they'll move on. Hypnosis, drugs, intracranial electrical stimulation…and if that doesn't work, then they'll do a clean slate."

The list of horrors that Ward prattled off was sickening enough, but the _way_ he said it - like he was reciting the Dewey Decimal system – made it so much worse. There was something disturbingly familiar in the way he listed the various tortures that were in store for him. He wasn't guessing, or assuming, he said it like he _knew_. There was a confidence there that made it sound like he was just being blasé, but Fitz could see the tremors in his hand. True, it could be an elaborate ruse. The shaking could simply be the leftover strain from earlier activity or the massive blood loss.

"Ward…" he began, but his voice hitched. He licked his lips, starting again. "Ward…why do you know what will happen?"

Ward didn't answer. He pretended like he didn't hear him.

"Ward!" Fitz said again, this time loud enough that Ward couldn't pretend he didn't hear. He tried not to focus on the rising pitch in his voice. He was terrified. There was no point in hiding it.

With a sigh, Ward turned over, moving cautiously. He met Fitz's eyes, searching for something, but Fitz didn't know what. A lie? Just how terrified he actually was that neither of them would make it out of here alive?

"Do you want me to lie to you?" he asked, and Fitz heard the sincerity in the question. "Because I will if you want me to."

"Will it make me feel better?"

"Probably not."

"Then just tell me the truth."

He didn't immediately answer, dark eyes again searching Fitz's face. Maybe he was trying to judge his reaction ahead of time, debating on the words to convince Fitz of his story. Ward glanced away, and for a moment, Fitz thought he wasn't going to answer at all.

"This is where I was most of the time, early on. My interview answers and responses to field tests were unusual enough that I caught the Science and Research division's attention. When I failed my final field test for qualifying as an agent, they brought me here to see if they could… _fix_ the flaw in my design."

"So…so you know from…?"

"Experience," Ward said flatly, turning away from Fitz.

Fitz's jaw dropped and he almost immediately slammed it shut again, forcefully clacking his teeth together. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat, and if he'd been allowed anything to eat or drink in the last few hours, it would be all over the floor again. "You…you went through this _before_? And you _still_ became a HYDRA agent?"

Ward snorted. "I keep telling you…I wasn't a HYDRA agent. I never was. I worked for Garrett."

Fitz could feel himself start to panic, his breathing growing fast and shallow. He didn't even know _why_ he was panicking. He shouldn't care what happened to Ward years ago. Like May said – they all had their tragedies.

Fitz seriously doubted anything they went through even came close to touching the demons that followed Ward, but still.

"But… _why_?" Fitz sputtered. "How could you…how could you work for a man who put you through this?"

Ward's answer was so quiet that Fitz had to strain to hear it.

"Garrett _didn't_ put me through it. He's the one who got me _out_ of it. After that, I owed him everything."

Entirely too much of Ward's personality made sense now. Fitz knew beyond a doubt, whoever got them out of this, _if_ they got out of this…he would be in their debt for the rest of his life, and Ward and Garrett weren't any different. A lifetime of Nazi inspired experimentation and torture or following in the shadow of a madman's pursuit of immortality and revenge. The sick, twisted brilliance of Garrett's plan made Fitz want to throw up all over again. If Ward still couldn't be trusted to obey at the end of his training, what better way to assure his allegiance than to show him the alternative, and then be the one to rescue him from it? It was Stockholm Syndrome as a science. If the biggest challenge presented with indoctrinating Ward was to do it without him noticing, what better way to do it? Make _sure_ that he was aware of it, and convince him that you were the lesser of two evils. If the codependent personality Magnus mentioned was true, then the whole scenario was a thing of psychological beauty.

"Ward?"

He waited until the older man looked back at him, pain and exhaustion etched into every line on his face.

"In case we don't make it out of this…if this is the end of the line…" he swallowed, clearing his throat. "Then I need to tell you something that someone should've told you sooner – that I'm sorry. That you had to go through this."

Ward's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why? It's not your fault."

Fitz nodded shakily. "I-I know. I'm still sorry."

Because while it may not have been his fault Ward suffered through it the first time…he had a sinking feeling he was a significant part of the reason why Ward was going through it now.


	7. Chapter 7

_"_ _When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you_  
With the hounds of hell coming after you  
I've got Blood, I've got Blood On My Name  
When the fires, when the fires are consuming you  
And your sacred stars won't be guiding you  
I've got Blood, I've got Blood  
Blood On My Name"

* * *

"Ward?"

Grant squeezed his eyes shut, turning away from the voice.

"Ward, wake up."

"Mmm, g'way Thomas," Grant protested, burying his face into the crook of his elbows.

" _Ward_!"

The tone of urgency finally sunk in, and Grant's eyes snapped open. He winced against the bright light, already reaching for his brother. If Christian was on the prowl again, they had to hide.

Except, when his vision finally cleared, it wasn't Thomas staring back at him, it was Fitz. Grant mentally kicked himself. He had no idea why he kept mistaking the young engineer for Thomas, they looked nothing alike. Thomas had the same dark features as all the Wards, and last time he'd even seen his little brother, it was before he even met Garrett.

"Wha-?" he started to ask, but Fitz shook his head. He tilted his head in the direction of the door, just as it slid open. He sat bolt upright, swinging his feet over the side of the cot. He felt himself sway dangerously, his vision tunneling briefly.

In stepped the flank guards, their faces covered with their goggles and face shields, automatic rifles at the ready. Two more soldiers followed, except they had their version of the Night-Night guns. A show that they weren't here to kill them, but they were more than capable of it.

Grant pulled Fitz closer to him, away from the door and the soldiers ducking his head close to Fitz's ear. "Don't argue with them."

Fitz turned his head, scowling back up at him. "So I'm just supposed to go willingly to be tortured?"

"They're not here for you," Grant hissed. "Don't give them a reason to change their minds."

Fitz's blue eyes widened, but otherwise barely acknowledged the order. If circumstances were different, Grant would be proud of the change in the young man. As it was, he wondered what the hell the team had gone through without him.

At least he hadn't changed like Simmons.

"Agent Ward," a man greeted cheerfully, and Grant's hand tightened reflexively on Fitz's shoulder. Painfully so, if the younger man's wince was any indicator. "So nice to see you finally awake."

"Magnus," Grant said, finally looking up. He let go of Fitz's shoulder, steadying himself on the cot's metal frame. "Wish I could say the same."

Instead of being put off by the insolence, Magnus smiled, wolf like eyes behind thin framed glasses glinting dangerously. "Can I just say, Agent, how happy I am to see your session with Zola has done nothing to dim your spirit?"

Grant felt a shudder go down his spine. He'd caught _Zola's_ attention? They really _didn't_ expect him to live. That little worm had been trying to live up to his grandfather's reputation in psychological reprogramming since HYDRA brought him on. He might've surpassed him, if his survival rate was better than two percent in his subjects.

"HYDRA didn't succeed last time, and they had months to try," Grant pointed out. He really wished he knew if he could stand without falling over. It was hardly convincing that he could withstand Zola's ministrations if he couldn't hold himself upright.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a pressing engagement elsewhere that I am unaware of, Agent Ward?" He pulled his glasses down on his nose so he could look over the rims. "Last I knew, Garrett was dead, and Coulson would prefer that you would join him. Exactly how do plan on getting out of here this time? No one is going to come and rescue you this time."

Grant didn't answer, simply smiling back.

Magnus chuckled, sliding his glasses back up. "If you were anyone else, I might actually believe you would kill yourself to get out of this. But you're a survivor, Agent Ward."

Grant thought of the scars on his wrists and beyond the hair line of his forehead.

"Don't think I didn't notice your previous attempts. But you were alone then. You had no mission, no purpose…you thought your life was over. You'd lived so long without orders, that without them you started to crumble. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you have a new purpose, don't you." Magnus glanced down at Fitz, who instinctively pushed back against Grant's leg. "I suppose trying to right the sins of your past is as noble as cause as any, but I suspect what will keep you here, what will make you _volunteer_ , is your new little brother."

Magnus bent low, so he was almost eye to eye with Grant. "Make no mistake, Agent. If it's not you, it _will_ be him. As long as you volunteer, your brother here will be unharmed. Zola won't come near him, and neither will anyone else."

Grant felt his stomach drop, his heart rate skyrocket, and his hands clenched white knuckled to the cot.

"Can you afford to fail another brother, just because you're afraid?" Magnus said, condescension dripping from his voice.

Grant's vision washed in red – he heard his pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else. Reason abandoned him, and all he saw was Christian's face, heard his mocking commands and the cries for help from Thomas in the well. Without thought, he launched himself at Magnus, tackling the older man around his waist in a drive the NFL would be proud.

He heard yelling, but he ignored it – he drew back a fist and punched Magnus as hard as he could, snapping the doctor's head back with an audible crack. And he didn't stop. Not until something heavy collided with the back of his head, and his vision dimmed. When he could see again, he was flat on his back, staring up at the bright lights again.

He tried to move, but his limbs were sluggish and unresponsive. Voices sounded like they were underwater, but he could catch bits and pieces. Magnus was cursing out the guards for letting him get the upper hand, and for hitting him in the head. Apparently, they might have messed up some of Zola's handiwork.

"Ward?" Thomas whispered, patting his cheek. He sounded concerned.

No, not Thomas. _Fitz_. He needed to stop confusing them. And he needed Fitz to go away. Kindness was a weakness. You could not be weak and expect to survive. He needed Thomas to live.

No, not Thomas. _Fitz._

He was suddenly being hauled upright, his vision swimming dangerously. If he'd eaten anything since his arrival, he'd have thrown it up.

"Look at what you did," Magnus cursed at the guard now holding him up. "If it's damaged, you'll have Zola to answer to."

Hands scraped through his hair, prodding none too gently against the electrode site. Spots danced in his vision and Grant felt his legs give out on one particularly harsh jab.

"Hardly ideal, but I'm sure Zola will make do. Take him back to room three. Hopefully, you can manage something _that_ simple."

"No, wait!" Thomas protested, and he felt someone grab his hand, pulling the guards up short.

No, not Thomas. _Fitz_.

"Something to add?" Magnus asked irritably. "Or would you like to join him?"

 _Don't say anything_ , Grant thought, trying to work his mouth to get the words out.

"You'll kill him like this!" Thomas protested, voice pitching higher than normal. He sounded frantic, worried… _concerned_. Kindness was weakness. Weakness got you killed.

Lights spun wildly in his vision, even as he tried to focus on his brother. Magnus had one hand on Thomas's chest, holding him back, but Thomas refused to let go of his hand.

No, not Thomas. _Fitz_.

"Dr. Zola knows what he's doing. Besides, I thought you didn't care what happened to him. By your own words, he's a murderer. Doesn't he deserve something for his crimes?"

"I-I don't. No, I mean he doesn't. He is, but not this! You can't take him like this, he'll die!"

Magnus sighed. "It's either him, or you. Make your choice. I know Agent Ward will survive, but I don't know about you. Personally, I would prefer not to take that chance, but I'll give you the option."

Grant couldn't let his brother make that choice. Fitz was too good for something this bad. Fitz didn't deserve it. Thomas didn't either. With the last of his strength, Grant wrenched his hand out of Fitz's grasp.

"Hmm. Maybe there's some good in him after all," Magnus mused. "We'll fix that. Take him to room three."

The two guards supporting him dragged him backwards, his feet scraping and dragging against the floor.

"No, wait! Wait, don't take him! Please, wai-WARD!"

The door slid shut, and the darkness of the hallway was a blissful relief. He could hear pounding on the other side of the door, but if Fitz was still yelling, he couldn't hear him.

"I like your friend, Agent Ward. He's helping us even more than he knows," Magnus said. "He definitely makes things interesting."

There was another door opened, and Grant felt the temperature drop several degrees. He willed his eyes open, forcing them to focus even as the world swam before him. The room was back lit in blue, except the one bright spot of light over the chair.

The guards threw him into the chair, and while two of them held him down, the others made quick work of the restraints. In moments, thick Velcro straps fastened across his ankles, his wrists, biceps and around his chest. His head lolled to one side, and he didn't care enough to lift it up.

A cold, nitrile covered hand lifted his chin, turning his head from side to side. The gentleness was worse than the callous touch of Magnus. Grant shivered, and tried to convince himself it was because of the cold.

"You damaged him," a thickly accented voice accused.

"Yes, well, he didn't want to come quietly," Magnus said. "The guards will be suitably reprimanded, I assure you."

"Damaging is my job," Zola whined. The same cold hands prodded at the back of his head with the same terrible gentleness. He muttered in German, and Grant wished he couldn't understand him. "Ah. He should be okay for now. He'll need repair work later, but for now he can continue."

He gripped the hand rails of the chair, white knuckled. He tried to keep his breathing under control, but as he felt the doctor attach the various monitors to his skin, he could hear the frenetic beating of his heart on the monitor. IV's slid under his skin and cold flushed through his veins, leaving burning in its wake.

"You must relax, Agent Ward. Take a deep breath, and calm your mind. Your compliance will be rewarded."

Ward felt a surge of anger so strong the monitors caught it, beeping wildly as he yanked against the restraints.

"Hmm. Perhaps you need a different incentive. We could always bring you company, Agent Ward, if you think that might help."

Grant's thoughts spun wildly back to Fitz. Thomas. No, Fitz. No, they couldn't see him like this.

"Are you ready to comply?" Zola asked, and against his will, Grant still shook his head.

"Your compliance will spare his life," Magnus said.

Grant squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth against the offered mouth guard and turning his head away. He felt them wire in the electrode, the weight shifting subtly against his skull.

"You or him, Agent Ward. You already made the decision once. Are you strong enough to make it twice? Or are you going to let your brother suffer in your place again?"

Grant felt a traitorous tear escape his closed eyes, and he _wanted_ to nod. He was strong enough. But he knew what was going to happen if he said yes. The drugs coursed through his veins, muddling his thoughts even worse than they already were. He didn't want to give them permission to hurt him. He'd let everyone hurt him. He could hardly argue that he didn't deserve it.

"Agent Ward?" Zola prompted.

He didn't want to die.

"Three seconds, or we'll make the decision for you, and I think you know who we'll pick."

He didn't want to die, but he couldn't let his brother suffer in his place again. This wouldn't be the well. It couldn't.

Grant nodded slowly, barely moving his head, but he knew Zola and Magnus could see it.

"Good boy. You made the right decision. Remember, Agent Ward. You deserve this. You _chose_ this."

White, hot lightning shot through his brain, slamming his teeth together, and his back arched against the electricity surging through him.

And everything was lost.


	8. Chapter 8

_"They kick and scream like wayward sons;_   
_And always wanting to sleep;_   
_and dream away these evil days;_   
_in hopes that God can't see."_

_\- Awake O Sleeper,_ Bright Brothers

* * *

Ward was gone an awfully long time. Fitz gave up pacing the length of the room, which seemed considerably smaller than it did earlier. It felt like he was going to pull his hair out by its roots, running his hands through it so many times.

He refused to sleep on the cot. It still stank of copper and blood, and he'd started thinking of it as Ward's.

There could be any number of reasons why they hadn't brought Ward back. They put him in a different room. They were actually treating him for the damage they did, which, admittedly, would only be so he survived for their 'training' program. Less comforting was the thought that Ward was dead, and he was alone.

He may not like Ward, but he liked being alone in this nightmare even less. And given their time together, Ward hadn't done anything to him.

Of course, he was seriously injured, and there were no oceans to be thrown into.

Fitz sat, propped against the wall nearest the cot because it was furthest from the door. It was a small act of defiance, considering distance wouldn't make a difference if they came for him. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

Magnus had yet to return, which Fitz hadn't decided if it was a good sign or a bad one. He recognized the name Zola from SHIELD's early days, and the doctor had always creeped him out, even on paper. He was more than a little radical, and given the history he had with the Red Skull and the soldiers in the camps, he tried not to think about why SHIELD would ally themselves with him in the first place.

Ward had a point there – if _Coulson_ couldn't tell the difference between HYDRA controlled SHIELD and what SHIELD was _supposed_ to be, there couldn't be that much of one.

When the guard brought him a glass of water and a plain, mushy oatmeal like substance, his first impulse was to use the water to wash the blood off his hands. Some of it had smeared and flaked off from when he grabbed Ward's hand in a last ditch effort for Magnus not to take him. Most of it remained.

Fitz buried his face in his arms, trying to erase the image of Ward's unfocused gaze, fresh blood down the side of his head as he wrenched his hand free of Fitz's grasp. It wasn't so much that Ward allowed himself to be taken away, it was that he did it when he was so incredibly out of it. He'd seen the way that the older man couldn't hold his head upright, couldn't get his feet underneath him, eyes rolling dangerously in the back of his head every time he tried to look at Fitz.

It meant that his actions weren't thought out.

They were _instinct_.

It meant Ward's _natural_ response to violence was to put himself between it and others.

He remembered Ward's very first day on the Bus – _their_ first day on the Bus. When they'd arrested Skye, to prove to her that they had nothing to hide, Coulson had given Ward the truth serum instead of her so she could question him. He and Simmons had watched it, convinced that it would be entertaining to watch the entirely too serious field operative spill his guts to a rank amateur civilian. One of the first questions she'd asked Ward was whether or not he'd killed anyone. At the time, it hadn't seemed out of place that he admitted that he had – but immediately pointed out that all his targets were terrible people, who were going to kill nice people, and that he didn't feel good about it afterwards.

At the time, that was a perfectly normal response. Expected. SHIELD specialists like Ward, and Romanoff, and Barton and May…sometimes they had to make the tough call. That he'd killed people in the line of duty was not surprising.

Knowing what he knew now…it had all different context. He expected remorse from a SHIELD agent. Not from a HYDRA agent. True, Ward might actually be _that_ good – maybe he could trick the serum. He'd tricked the lie detector at Fury's secret base. But that was after a decent amount of preparation, and like Koenig said – they weren't positive it worked on Romanoff. Everything in Ward's record said he was second only to her in pretty much every field.

He secretly hoped that was the case. That Ward really was, deep down, a terrible human being, an intelligent psychopath who used and manipulated people for his own purposes and had no remorse for the horrible things he'd done.

Because then, he wouldn't have to feel guilty that Ward took his place as Zola's guinea pig. It would mean that Ward deserved what they did.

Except _no one_ deserved what they were doing here.

He kept some of the food they brought him, just in case Ward needed it if he came back.

When. _When_ he came back.

More time passed, and Fitz was left alone, as Magnus promised. He didn't sleep so much as drifted, startling himself awake when nightmares started.

Fitz suspected that the waiting part was more for his benefit than Ward's. They couldn't _keep_ torturing him this long and have him survive. The likely scenario was that they'd finished with him, and were purposely keeping them separate to screw with his mind. Imagined scenarios were always going to be worse than the reality.

He hoped, anyway, because right now, his imagination was coming up with some pretty horrific things.

He tried to focus on imagining the team coming to get him. It only worked so well since he couldn't decide who it would be. Bobbie and Mack? Hunter and Coulson? Skye and her merry band of super powered misfits? May, all by herself in true Calvary fashion? His daydreams fizzled and died without any true conviction they would come true.

It felt like as soon as he drifted off, the door finally opened, pressure dropping and making his ears pop. He blinked, rubbing exhaustion from his eyes as he glanced up. There were still four guards, two at the ready with their ICER rifles, and two supporting Ward between them.

Magnus was with them instead of Zola, and even from here, Fitz could see there was an actual bandage around Ward's head. That seemed odd. Even stranger was watching the guards carry Ward to the cot and almost gently lay him down.

Magnus waved them off, and they retreated to the door, but didn't leave just yet.

"So, Leo, how are you feeling?" Magnus asked cheerfully. "You hardly ate your food. Still feeling nauseous?"

Fitz snorted. "From the smell of blood and puke, sure."

Magnus glanced back towards the door where there was a patch of dried blood from Ward's first return. "I suppose I could have someone come and clean it, if it will make you feel better. Agent Ward hardly needs to be reminded of such unpleasantness. Have you thought any more on our offer?"

Fitz did the only thing that came to mind, and stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry.

Magnus stared at him for a minute, mouth open in surprise. Even Fitz was surprised, but juvenile as it was, it conveyed his opinion on the matter quite eloquently.

Then Magnus started to laugh. Not even a polite chuckle, the way that villains always do when the hero has a particularly witty comeback, but an actual, genuine laugh.

"Oh my, Leo," Magnus said, wiping a tear from under the corner of his glasses. "I am _so_ glad you were selected."

Fitz grumbled, folding his arms across his chest and crossing his legs, the very image of petulant defiance.

"Oh, come now. No need to be hostile. I really wish you could see all that we could accomplish together," Magnus said. He was still smiling in amusement.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me, then," Fitz growled. He'd meant it sarcastically, but apparently Magnus couldn't take a hint. Instead, he took it as an invitation, and slid down the wall to sit next to Fitz, eagerly pulling something out of his pocket. Instead of a clipboard, this time he had a small tablet, which he held out so that Fitz could see the screen.

"I'm so glad that you asked," Magnus said, and he seemed sincere. He showed him the display that was currently rotating on the screen. " _This_ is our newest project. It's like the Faustus Device, except less…messy." As he started to explain the project, Fitz could only feel his disgust grow. They actually, honestly believed he was going to be a part of this?

Apparently, he wasn't very good at keeping the emotions off his face, because half way through, Magnus stopped abruptly.

"Am I boring you?" he asked.

For a moment, Fitz thought about taking the same route and not answering. But the sheer, unadulterated anger blinded reason, and he reached over and snatched the tablet out of Magnus's hands, hurling it across the room where it shattered against the wall.

The guards' rifles snapped to attention, but Fitz ignored them.

"Are you out of your _fucking mind_?" Fitz shouted, jumping to his feet. It was rhetorical, and they both knew it. "You _honestly_ think that I am even _remotely_ interested in your sick, twisted human experiments? I would rather die than help you, you bloody psychopath!"

Magnus frowned, slowly pushing himself up to stand. "And what about your friend?" He indicated Ward with a wave of his hand. "Are you willing to let him die, too?"

"I think he'd prefer it over _this_ ," Fitz snarled, waving his hand around the room.

"And if we won't allow him?" Magnus asked, a slyness in his voice that Fitz would've heard if he wasn't so blindly enraged. "If we never push far enough to kill him? Then what? You'll just let him suffer like this?"

"I'll kill him myself," Fitz snapped. As soon as the words left his mouth, he clapped his hands over it, eyes going wide in horror.

Magnus's sly smile spread to a full Cheshire grin. "Why, Leo…perhaps there's hope for you yet." The doctor sidled up next to Fitz, who was trying not to hyperventilate around his hands, and put a reassuring arm over his shoulders. "Here's the deal, Leo…you help with that design, because if you don't, I have no reason to take him away from Zola. His ability to override suggestion is too strong for the Faustus Device, so Zola has been given free rein to Christmas tree his brain until he finds a more suitable method. It's messy. It's painful. Ward is a valuable asset we would like back – there's years of training in him, and as I'm sure you noticed, he's quite handy in the field….when he _behaves_. Right now, he's a broken instrument, and Zola is the kid who is just going to hit him until he breaks beyond repair. _You_ can help me stop that, Leo." He gave Fitz's shoulder a fatherly squeeze, and he was glad his mouth was already covered. He felt himself gag. "Design it so it won't cause him pain. Help me _fix_ it, so we can fix _him_. If we can retrain him, harness that mind of his so we never doubt his loyalties again…we won't _have_ to hurt him."

Magnus's voice was soothing, gentle, almost hypnotic. He sounded like he genuinely regretted what happened to Ward, that this _wasn't_ what he wanted.

"Doesn't that sound better than killing him?" Magnus asked, smiling gently.

Fitz swallowed back bile. "You want me to make him a…a _slave_."

"I want his unconditional loyalty, Leo. I don't have the time to invest in him like Garrett," Magnus said. "I really did mean it when I said this is about science. The science of human condition. After that unnecessary bloodbath at the Triskelion, I wanted to find a better way to ensure peace. Loyalty. I'm sure we can both agree that people are less scary when they're predictable, can't we?"

The doctor gestured towards the still unconscious Ward. "Think about it – how did you feel about Ward before we began our adventure? A cold blooded murderer, I believe, was your exact phrase. And now you defend him. But you see, it's all about context. Nothing has changed. What he did to you hasn't been undone, but yet, your perception of him as changed. What if you could have that context, that… _revelation_ without all of this mess? What if we could give people like Ward an actual chance at being a part of society? There would be no such thing as murderers and rapists and psychopaths, Leo. Everyone would be at peace. All that is achievable, Leo. _You_ can make it happen."

Everyone would be the same.

No one would be different.

In the end, it wasn't what Magnus said that made Leo react. It was because it sounded like what _Jemma_ and _Gonzalez_ were suggesting. A world without dangerous people because they would be _dealt_ with – catalogued, programmed and controlled.

It was a bloodless genocide.

Because how do you decide if someone is dangerous? Was it their provable actions? Was it their intent? Was it their thoughts? Was it their _potential_?

 _Who_ made the decision about what was dangerous?

Fitz could very well be on that list beside Ward.

Fitz was not a fighter. He never was. But the power of belief was empowering, and Fitz _truly believed_ that Magnus was worse than Whitehall. Was worse than Pierce. Was worse than _anyone_ he'd come across – the true definition of _monstrous_. The left handed upper cut wasn't what Magnus was expecting, and it caught him off guard enough to knock him to the ground, but not out.

Two of the soldiers rushed forwards, but Magnus waved them off, touching a finger to his rapidly swelling cheek.

"I am _never_ going to help you," Fitz spat, hands clenched and literally shaking with rage. "So you might as well kill us now."

Slowly, carefully, Magnus pushed himself to his feet, still gingerly touching his cheek where Fitz hit him. The thin edge of his glasses had made a shallow cut, and a drop of blood beaded along his skin. He smiled, and stepped forward, forcing Fitz to take a step back…and another and another until he felt the back of his knees hit the frame of the cot and he almost fell.

"Never," Magnus hissed, leaning forwards so Fitz had to bend awkwardly backwards to avoid him, "is a very _, very_ long time here, Leo."

Blood from the cut dripped on Fitz's cheek.

"I wouldn't be so hasty to make such promises. Especially when your life is not the only one at stake."

Fitz dropped onto the cot, narrowly avoiding hitting Ward's feet or toppling backwards off the side.

"Think about it, Leo."

With that, Magnus marched off towards the door, signaling for the sentries to follow him. Just before he left, however, he spun on his heel. "Consider this – he wasn't a killer either, before he came to us."

The door slid shut, leaving the two men alone.


	9. Chapter 9

The fact that Ward's head wound had actually been addressed was possibly the most disconcerting thing. Not a half assed patch job, either. The thick, heavy swathe of bandages that cut through his hair like an eighties style sweat band was professional grade. No blood leaked through this time, and unlike his previous return to the room, Ward actually appeared to be resting peacefully. His breathing was deep and even, and no shock tremors shook his frame. He had color in his cheeks again, and the bruising on his face was down considerably. The spectacular discoloration was still there, but all in all…Ward didn't look like a corpse anymore.

It seemed so wrong that they would even make the attempt at appearing to care. It seemed less like a peace offering, and more like a threat. They could be kind, or they could be cruel. See?

Fitz was back on the floor leaning against the cot, trying to rest while he could in their slight reprieve. It still felt like he was giving in, even fractionally, to HYDRA, but his body demanded sleep. It was beginning to feel like one of those long nights conducting experiments at the academy with Jemma, except with less pleasant company.

He must have dozed, because he almost had a heart attack when sleep clumsy hand dropped onto the top of his head. He shot sideways and landed face first on the floor, half rolling underneath the cot and whacking his head on the cot's leg.

Soft laughter echoed strangely in the hollow room. Fitz blinked sleep out of his eyes and was met with the most bizarre sight he could imagine. Ward was peering over the edge of the cot, grinning like an idiot and obviously pleased with himself.

"Nice nap, Tommy?"

"You're a right ass, you know that?" Fitz grumbled, cursing and rubbing his forehead.

Ward didn't immediately answer, but the grin only widened.

It struck Fitz that this was the first time he'd ever seen a genuine smile from the former agent. The entire time he'd been on the team, he was entirely too serious, and he'd hardly had a reason to smile afterwards. "What the hell did they do to you?"

Ward frowned. "Who?"

 _Oh no_. Fitz's mind blanked. No, no, no, nonononono…he couldn't be in this alone. He couldn't deal with Zola and Magnus _and_ an amnesiac. He sat bolt upright, pulling himself eye level with Ward who was staring at him like he'd lost his mind, instead of the other way around. His smile diminished slightly, brow furrowing in confusion.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Ward, what's my name?" Fitz demanded. He latched onto Ward's arm, painfully tight, but he didn't care. "Tell me, what's _my_ name?"

Ward's smile vanished, replaced only with an uncertain frown. "Tommy?"

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut, willing his heart to go back to where it should be. "No, no, no, what's _my_ name? _Think_ , Ward. Don't let them take this from you."

"What's wrong with you?" Ward asked, shifting on the cot so he was on his side and not his stomach. "Did Christian do something?"

Christian? _Shit_.

He'd read the documents. He'd gone through everyone's profile. He _knew_ Ward had siblings. It was easy to forget since he never spoke of them. In fact, he'd never spoken about any of his family members. Given he was willing to blatantly murder half of them, Fitz could hazard a guess that there was a pretty good reason he never brought them up.

"Thomas is your younger brother?" Fitz guessed, recalling Magnus's earlier threats to Ward.

"How bad did he hurt you this time?" Ward asked, this time sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. Cautious, careful hands ran over his head, expertly checking for unseen injuries, and Fitz shuddered. It was…disconcerting. The same hands that killed however many people were surprisingly gentle. It also meant that wherever Ward imagined himself in life, he once had the capacity for affection and compassion. At least for one person. He didn't want to imagine what changed him.

Fitz caught Ward's roving hands and pulled them away, pushing them back onto his lap. "Ward…look at me. _Really_ look. You know me."

There was a funny sort of look on the specialist's face, like he wasn't sure if this was a game his imagined younger brother was playing or if he was being serious. "Of course I do…you're Thom-"

It was like a switch was thrown. It wasn't a slow realization; it was like a slap to the face. His eyes widened in recognition, and he wrenched his hands out from underneath Fitz's as reality set in.

"Fitz."

He said it like a curse.

He didn't expect to see absolute betrayal in Ward's dark eyes, or the accusation there, like he'd just stolen something precious from him. "I'm sorry," Fitz began, but Ward angrily pushed away from him, shoving himself off the cot and putting it between them as a barrier.

"What happened?" he demanded. He began pacing, and Fitz sighed, sliding back to his cross legged position on the ground.

"I was hoping you would tell me," he said. He gestured towards Ward's head. "I don't know what you remember, but last I saw you, you were barely conscious being dragged out of here to see Zola in room three, if that means anything."

Ward's hand touched the bandage, and then he looked at both his arms, turning them up so he could see the inside crook of his elbows. He cursed when he saw both had needle marks and mottled bruising. He cautiously ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, then curled both hands into tight fists, working his jaw open and close. He glared at Fitz. "Did I say anything?"

Fitz held his hands up in mock surrender. "No. Not really. You were just…confused."

"Not to _you_ , to _them_ ," Ward growled, gesturing towards the door.

"How the hell would I know?" Fitz demanded. _This_ version of Ward was considerably harder to sympathize with. "I was left in here."

Ward's attention suddenly snapped fully towards Fitz, abruptly halting mid-pace. "They haven't done anything to you?"

Fitz actually flinched at Ward's tone. It occurred to him that Ward's rapid cycling mood swings and memory loss were all symptoms of a serious brain trauma, drugs, or ECT. Judging by the looks of him, and the self-check he just did for a stroke or seizure, he was at least suspicious that one, if not all, applied. It was actually fascinating to watch Ward essentially reset in front of him. Magnus hadn't been exaggerating when he said that Ward was incredibly resilient to their methods of brainwashing.

"Nothing physical," Fitz answered honestly. "Not so vague threats towards you, more vague threats towards me."

"Why the hell would threatening me do anything to you?" Ward asked distrustfully.

"This may come as a shock to you, but not everyone is as heartless as you are. Most people can't just sit idly by and watch someone be tortured in their place. Tends to make us feel a little guilty," Fitz snapped.

"But I…" Ward shook his head, like he was searching for a word. "I-I left you to die. I did _that_ –" he gestured towards Fitz and he could only assume he meant the brain damage from hypoxia. "What the hell difference should it make to you what happens now?"

Good question. Fitz didn't have an actual answer. Instead he turned the question. "Why'd you tell me not to stop them from taking you?"

Ward shrugged.

"Oh, back to lies, are we?" Fitz said.

"I never lied to you. Everything I said was the truth," Ward protested. "Just with misleading context."

When that was all he said, returning to pacing while he rubbed absently at the bandage, Fitz felt a little bit of his anger deflate out of him.

"Who was Thomas?"

Ward flinched at the sound of his name. "Don't, Fitz."

"I'm not asking to be mean. I'm asking because every time you've woken up, you keep calling me that. I'd like to know if that's your impulse, or theirs."

It wasn't technically a lie. He was fairly positive he was right when he guessed Thomas was Ward's younger brother, but he was also wondering at the game Magnus was playing. The scientist was too precise to make wayward comments, like referring to Fitz as Ward's brother. He wanted to know what the hell the deranged man was up to.

Ward was silent, and Fitz could watch the emotions play across his face. If he could read him that easily, the older man must be exhausted. Finally, Ward seemed to come to a decision, and let himself slide down the wall opposite Fitz. He kept his knees up, propping his arms on them as he fiddled absently with his nails. He didn't look directly at him, but down at the ground.

All signs of guarded submission. That was mildly concerning, because that was the last thing Fitz wanted from Ward was for him to give up. Even just to him. He kind of wanted the berserker rage mode, just not directed at him.

"Thomas is my younger brother," Ward said. "He was the youngest out of all of us, and he was the only one our mother didn't torture. I haven't seen him since they sent me to military school when I was seventeen."

"Torture?" Fitz echoed.

"She used to starve us, and feed him. We were kept locked up for days, and he had everything he ever wanted. She beat us, and praised him. That kind of thing. And our father let her."

Ward made it sound like he was describing the difference between yoga and tai chi.

"He was the only thing she loved," Ward said, smiling briefly. "If a person like that was even capable of such a thing. Christian hated her. Hated her with everything he had. He wanted her to know our pain, so he would torture Thomas to get back at her. Except _he_ didn't do anything. He wasn't stupid. He knew she would find out, and she would punish whoever did it. So he made me do it."

Fitz felt his blood turn to ice.

Ward studied his hands, which he was picking at enough that they were starting to redden where he was pulling at the cuticles. "The worst part was Thomas was a good kid, in spite of everything. Our mother never did anything to us in front of him, so I don't think he understood why we were so angry. He tried to help us out when we were hungry and didn't go to the kitchen ourselves, but he just made things worse when he thought he was making them better. She would find out, and those days were the worst. I think maybe she thought we were a corruptive influence. Thomas didn't understand Christian's hate. He didn't understand why I would hurt him even when he was just trying to play with us."

Ward yanked on a piece of skin hard enough it tore, fresh blood beading up in the shallow cut. He didn't seem to notice, except to press his thumb nail into the groove, digging it deeper. He still stared at the ground. "If I didn't, Christian would hurt us both, and he would hurt us worse. I think he would've killed Thomas. I know he would've killed me, and I didn't want to die because then Tommy and Angie would be alone with Christian. So I hurt him so I could help him."

Blood dripped freely from his finger now, but Ward continued to dig, running his thumbnail along the cut, making it longer and deeper with every swipe.

"Messed up, huh?" Ward said mildly.

That was one way to put it.

Another way would be brilliant, horrifying psychological torture that Mengele would be hard pressed to top.

Magnus sure as shit was trying though.

Every once in a while, Fitz wished he wasn't as smart as he was. It didn't happen often, but it was usually when he couldn't find people who understood quantum mechanics and structural engineering on a microscopic level. Right now, he wished he didn't understand what was happening, because even as he understood it, he understood how traitorously unavoidable the path Magnus had set them on was. This was Ward's twisted childhood in reverse, using their previous brotherly relationship as a sick mockery of Thomas and Grant as children, with Magnus standing in for Christian. Magnus wanted him to help him build the machine, which would hurt Ward, but if he didn't, he would simply hurt him _worse_ , and he would turn on Fitz as well. The choice was no longer _if_ he hurt Ward – it was _how badly_. Magnus made it abundantly clear that he would be perfectly accepting of Zola's 'hit it till it works' solution. The question was now whether or not _Fitz_ was okay with it.

Did he hate Ward enough to let him suffer?

Or did he still have enough humanity in him to at least make it painless?

"Actually," he said, voice rough. "I think I understand perfectly."


	10. Chapter 10

"Did HYDRA know?" Fitz asked.

It'd been a long, awkward silence between the two after Ward related his childhood. Fitz had nothing to add, and rightfully assumed that pursuing the sore subject wasn't going to help him. He'd remained quiet and contemplative for the last several hours.

Ward sighed, trailing a finger down the side of the wall as he paced along it. Pacing kept him focused, and was a moderate way of burning energy. He was used to sitting for hours with a rifle perched against his shoulder, or waiting for a target to show, but not in an obnoxiously white room with nothing except a former friend and a bed between them. "Know what?"

"About your family?"

He scoffed. "Of course they did. I strongly suspect my mother was an active Head. Why do you think they fished me out of prison?"

"Did Garrett do that with SHIELD's permission, or was that an independent decision?" Fitz asked.

Ward shrugged. "At the time, SHIELD and HYDRA were so intertwined, I doubt it makes a difference."

The young engineer sat on the floor near the abandoned cot, absently picking at stray fibers on his scrubs. He wasn't looking very good. Wide dark smudges underneath pale blue eyes and paler skin, the faint tremors of hypoglycemia, the drawn and pinched features that spoke of little sleep and even less food and water. Ward doubted he looked any better, but he'd also been through worse many times before.

"Well, it does…a little," Fitz answered. "If it was SHIELD sanctioned, it means that their own method of 'helping' you was to basically start a prison riot, let you escape on your own, and then chuck you out in the middle of the wilderness for six months. May or Bobbie or Trip never mentioned their recruiter spiel, but I get the feeling it might have been something more…" he waved his hand, absently snapping his fingers. "James Bond, less Spy vs Spy."

"Do you still have trouble with aphasia?" Ward asked. The first time he'd seen Fitz down in Vault D, the young engineer could barely talk, tripping over common words like everything was perpetually just at the tip of his tongue. Here, in this cell, however, it was only the occasional missing word or trouble substituting phrases.

"Only when I'm tired or not concentrating," Fitz answered. "Not that you care."

"I meant what I said in the Vault," Ward said. When Fitz looked up at him, blinking owlishly in the bright light, Ward turned away. He didn't have problems meeting Zola eye to eye, but he couldn't stand it with Fitz. He wasn't even sure why. Guilt? Shame? They were foreign enough concepts that he doubted he could recognize them in himself. "I didn't know what would happen. I just knew you would have a better chance to survive than if I shot you in the head like Garrett told me to."

"In the Vault?" Fitz said, rubbing tiredly at blood shot eyes. "You mean when I tried to asphyxiate you?"

Ward started pacing again. "It wasn't exactly undeserved."

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't intend to kill you," Fitz said, smiling briefly. It made him look ten years younger, and dammit all if it didn't remind him even more of Thomas.

"I would've let you," he said, without thinking. "After I heard you try and talk, the way you fumbled for words but there was nothing diminished in your thoughts, I would've let you."

Fitz's explosive anger was not what he was expecting. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" Fitz shouted. It actually startled him, jolting him physically out of his mindless pattern tracing on the wall.

"What-"

"No, just shut up!" Fitz yelled, pulling himself upright so fast he swayed. "What the hell is your end game, Ward? What are you playing at? Is this another game to you? How can one person be so…so… _argh_!" he struggled for the word, and apparently failed, settling for a violent strangling motion with his hands. "I don't understand you! And just when I _think_ I do, you do _that_!"

"What?"

"You're doing it now!" Fitz almost screamed, gesturing wildly with his hands. "I _know_ you're one step shy of an intelligent psychopath. I _know_ you tried to kill me and my best friend, which, by the way, I was how I was starting to consider you before you threw me in the ocean in a storage container. I _know_ you killed Hand and Koenig and God knows how many other agents. I _know_ you killed your parents and your older brother. I should _hate_ you, and sometimes, just when I think maybe, just _maybe_ Jemma was on the right track about attaching a splinter bomb to you, you do _this_." He angrily waved his hand at Ward.

Ward froze, unsure whether or not he should retreat or stand perfectly still. Fitz didn't elaborate, and stood, heaving, bright red in the face and angrier than he even remembered seeing him in the Vault or when he attacked him on the quinjet when he found out Coulson was going to make them work together again.

He shifted sideways, just in case Fitz was planning on charging or throwing something. "Do what?"

"Remind me of all that was _good_ about you," Fitz yelled. And just like that, it was like all the anger evaporated, and he visibly deflated, exhaustion creeping back into every motion. He still gestured his hands, but instead of angry and accusatory, it was a gesture of resignation. "Jesus, Ward, don't you _get it_? You were one of my best friends, the only thing I had for a brother. I _trusted_ you. I _believed_ in you. You pulled us out of South Ossetia without an extraction team. You almost killed yourself with that berserker staff trying to prove that you were more than just your anger, and you hated every minute of it." Fitz ran a tired, shaking hand through his short curls. "And even more recently, I found you trying to smuggle a child out of science lab that _you_ escaped from. You sacrificed yourself so they would leave me alone, so out of it that you couldn't tell the difference between me and a brother you haven't seen in a decade. _That_ Ward wasn't an act. Somewhere…" Fitz paused, and jabbed a finger in his direction. " _Somewhere_ in you is that compassion. And every time I think I hate you, every _single_ time, you do or say something that just makes me remember that there's still something _good_ in you."

Ward didn't answer. How the hell was he _supposed_ to answer something like that? That he never actually expected to be activated as a HYDRA sleeper agent? That he liked the isolation being a field operative because no matter who pulled his strings, he was always surrounded by the enemy? That he hated SHIELD as much as he hated HYDRA, then and now, and it made little difference to him who came out the new dictator? And just the same way that he hated the two agencies for all that they did, he hated the idea that they could and _would_ do it to others like him?

That he decided long ago, that the world shouldn't have any more monsters like him?

"At what point," Fitz asked, voice barely audible, "did you decide you are not worth saving?"

There was something to be said for self-aware monsters.

"The day I almost let Thomas drown," Ward said, without any real thought. That day had been the defining moment of his life. When he realized that whatever paths he may have had to choose from were sealed off. That was the day he felt true hate. Not anger, not rage, but pure, unabashed _hatred_. It had consumed him from that very moment, the fire in his heart that slowly destroyed everything else in him until it was all he had. Which is why, when Garrett offered him a way of controlling it, without smothering it, he'd jumped at the chance. It was his lifeline. A way to survive as the new version of himself – one that not only was capable of his own thoughts, but was dangerous enough that he was capable of driving three thousand miles in a stolen vehicle to set his house on fire.

He may not have known Christian was in there at the time, but the only difference it would've made is he would've locked the doors before setting the fire.

"You don't think maybe you've earned a little peace?" Fitz asked. He sounded wistful, like he was hoping that the fake Ward he'd started thinking of as his friend wasn't all an act.

Problem was, Ward wasn't entirely sure himself.

"I mean, didn't you work for SHIELD for like six years before the HYDRA take over?"

Ward finally turned fully towards Fitz, leaning back against the wall. His head still ached from…whatever the hell it was Zola did to him, and the lights weren't helping. "About that. What is it you think specialists do, Fitz?"

Fitz swallowed reflexively, clearing his throat. "I don't know, I never really thought about it. You do what May and Trip do."

"Which is what, Fitz? Crochet? Make shadow puppets? Hug babies?" Ward pressed.

Fitz glanced down at the ground.

"I killed just as many people in the name of SHIELD as I did HYDRA. And apparently May and Fury thought the team needed that, because they didn't choose May because of her specialist skills, they picked me. On paper it clearly said I had a bad time working with people. I never had a partner or a handler that stuck with me for more than a few weeks. I went in, alone, and I got the job done by any means necessary. That's what Fury decided he wanted. And if the head of SHIELD wanted what Skye and May and Simmons and even Coulson amount to nothing but a cold blooded murderer, what does that tell you?" Ward snapped. "I told you, _all of you_ , repeatedly, I was a bad person. That I wasn't a nice guy." He waved at Fitz. "Hell, when I tried to be nice and give you advice on Simmons, you thought it was weird and creepy until I started acting like an asshole again. The guy you keep trying to save was someone you didn't even like. Right now, the only difference between me and May is that I _know_ what I am, and until recently, I _wasn't_ okay with it."

"And now?" Fitz asked, voice quiet and resigned.

"Now?" Ward echoed. He found himself smiling. "Well, if May doesn't feel guilt for being a killer, why should I?"

Fitz didn't answer right away, and Ward felt somewhat victorious. He liked Fitz, he really did. The kid was smarter than anyone he'd ever met, and he didn't have that self-absorbed vanity that people like Stark did. He was loyal, literally to a fault, and genuinely wanted to do good in the world.

And in Ward's world, that was a terrible, awful thing to want. Better just to crush that hope right now.

"Bullshit," Fitz said. It was so quiet, Ward wasn't sure he heard.

"Excuse me?"

"I said _bullshit_ ," Fitz repeated, this time much louder.

"Look, Fitz," Ward began, but the younger man cut him off.

"No, _you_ look. You're doing it _again_. I don't know what the hell you've gone through, and frankly, given the little I _do_ know, I don't want to. But you're not a monster. You're a human being, and humans make mistakes. _Real_ monsters don't try to fix them. _Real_ monsters just keep down that path as far as it takes them and then keep going," Fitz said, enunciating every word so Ward heard it perfectly clear. "And when I ran into you, when you didn't have an audience, when you had _no one_ watching you to see what you did, or how you acted, and you were rescuing a _child_. Name a monster who saves _children_ when there is no one to see them do it."

"You're very kind," Ward said. "Someday, that's going to get you killed."

"Very astute observation, Agent Ward," Magnus said. "And I think you two have had enough sharing and caring for today, wouldn't you?"

Ward could've kicked himself. He'd been entirely too distracted by Fitz to notice the telltale drop in air pressure that mean the door had unsealed.

Judging from Fitz's expression, he wasn't very proud of himself either for missing it. The poor kid could hardly be blamed. He was exhausted and not trained for this type of situation.

He, on the other hand…he was glad Garrett wasn't around to see him, because it would be the beating of a lifetime.

"You read my mind," Ward said glibly. He noticed this time there were only two guards, and they hung back as Magnus stepped forwards. Either they were getting lax, or the other two were just around the corners of the door, waiting to see what he and Fitz would do without the added visible threat.

"Leo, have you thought any more on my proposition?" Magnus asked, ignoring Ward for the moment.

Wait. Fitz was making deals with Magnus? Now _that_ caught Ward's attention. More importantly, so did Fitz's reaction. Fitz didn't look at Magnus, but instead met Ward's eyes, and as soon as he saw Ward studying him, he looked guiltily away.

So. The deal involved him somehow. The question was how?

"I really d-don't think I'm the guy for the job," Fitz said, stuttering again. "M-maybe you should try A.I.M…"

Magnus sighed. "You know, Leo, I really thought I was clear last time."

"What exactly is it that you want Fitz to do?" Ward asked. He fully expected to be ignored, he just wanted to see Fitz's reaction. Guilt? Anger? Anxiety? They all meant different possibilities.

"N-nothing," Fitz said, looking down right panicky.

Magnus, on the other hand, looked annoyed… which is why it came as a surprise when he turned to Ward and answered him. "He's going to help us upgrade the Faustus Device so we can actually get our money's worth out of you. We're in need of someone who knows how you think so we can change it, and then maybe this time you won't… _reset_."

Ward knew whatever color was in his face was gone. His blood pressure dropped so fast that he actually saw spots.

He'd spent _months_ overcoming their brainwashing tactics. It took _years_ to get over the damage Christian did trying to put thoughts in his head.

His head may be the place of nightmares, but they were _his_ nightmares. He even refused Coulson's offer to run him through the T.A.H.I.T.I project and give him a new life. He'd rather hunt and be hunted than lose everything that defined him.

That little shit. All that talk of peace and being salvageable, he'd meant it not because Ward as he existed deserved being saved, but because he thought he could rewrite him as the version he wanted.

"That's not –" Fitz started to protest, but Ward didn't want to hear it. He'd had enough of lies for his entire life. He learned his lesson long ago. There was no help for him. If he wanted to live, he was going to have to save himself.

Instead of turning on Fitz, however, Ward lunged at Magnus.

He may be damaged, but he wasn't dead.

He hit the doctor's chin so hard it snapped back, sending his glasses flying and blood spurted from his lips where his teeth bit into soft skin. Before he could recover, Ward drove his open hand into the doctor's throat making him gag , and spun the doctor around so his back was pinned to Ward's chest, with one arm around his neck, and the other one to the side of his head, prepared to snap his neck in any second.

It all took place in less time than it took the armed guards to raise their guns.

"I don't really care if I get out of this alive," Ward snarled. "It's currently in my best interest to get killed. But I bet you might have some specific orders concerning this guy."

The guards glanced at each other, and took their fingers off the trigger.

"Just how far do you think you'll get, Agent Ward?" Magnus gasped.

"Not far," Ward said. He gave a slight twist to the doctor's neck to suggest he be quiet.

The doctor hacked and gagged against the chokehold. "And what about your friend? How far do you think he'll get?"

Ward spared a second glance over to Fitz, who looked somewhere between exhausted and horrified, and… _betrayed_? What right did _he_ have to feel betrayed?

Ward curled his lip. "Don't care."

The doctor coughed, and it took a second to realize he was laughing.

"What's so funny?" He pressed slightly harder against the man's neck and felt a vertebrae pop.

"You. Your friend wasn't willing to harm you, but you seem perfectly fine with abandoning him."

"Shut up," Ward growled, pushing Magnus along in front of him towards the door. He didn't care if Fitz stayed or followed. It was the last time he tried to apologize for things in the past.

Magnus scoffed, sending fleck of blood flying from his bloody lip. "Any time now, doctor."

Ward had less than a second to realize who he was talking to before his brain caught on fire.

Or at least, that's sure as hell what it felt like.

All of his muscles seized, tightening violently as ligaments pulled and stretched further than they were meant to. Lightning arced across his teeth, slamming his mouth shut as it filled with blood.

He was distantly aware that he'd dragged Magnus with him when he fell, and the doctor was in just as much pain as he was.

 _Good_.

And just as suddenly as the lightning came, it stopped. Ward's muscles twitched sporadically, and he tasted copper in his mouth and he could see more spots than was healthy in his vision. He gasped like a fish out of water, trying to remember how to breathe.

"I knew that would come in handy," a German accented voice mused from somewhere above him. "Remote controls are much less messy."

"Zola, you're a dick," Magnus gasped. Ward could hear him off to one side, not very far from him, but he didn't have the coordination to turn and look. "You couldn't have waited until he let go?"

There was a rustle of fabric, and Ward knew the smaller man shrugged indifferently. "You shouldn't have let him grab you in the first place. You're sloppy, Magnus."

Zola suddenly leaned into Ward's field of vision, looking very pleased with himself. "You're the only thing on wi-fi here, Agent Ward. You should feel privileged."

It explained the bandages that weren't a hack job. The first implant had been a primarily psychological tactic. There was no need to keep it where he could easily, albeit painfully, rip it out. Now there was probably one _in_ his head instead of outside of it, hardwired in.

And apparently remote controlled.

Ward summoned the last bit of strength that he had, and struck Zola just on the outside of his knee. He was rewarded with the smaller man's cry of pain and an audible pop as the knee cap slid out of place.

Victory was short lived, because while Zola's knee may be out of commission, his trigger finger wasn't.

Roaring filled his ears as he felt his blood begin to boil and his skin catch fire. He might have screamed, he didn't know. His bones felt like they were trying to rip themselves free of his body and he didn't blame them.

He heard shouting, and suddenly, blissfully, the lightning abated.

"Stop! I'll help! I'll do it! Just stop hurting him!"

"Fitz?" he mumbled, but it came out jumbled, more like a hiss of pain than any actual word.

"I don't know, Mr. Fitz. I like the sounds he makes," Zola mused. He staggered to his feet, balancing on one leg. He waved a guard off who tried to help him.

There was a tiny zap that made Ward's entire body twitch.

"STOP!"

Fitz sounded desperate. That seemed odd considering Ward was going to leave him for dead.

"You said if I agreed to help with that bloody machine of yours, you would stop hurting him!"

Stupid boy. You don't make deals with devils.

Ward tried to focus bleary vision on Fitz, who was being held back by the two armed guards.

Magnus pushed himself to his feet, kicking Ward as he did so. He was not happy about being taken hostage. "That deal has expired, Leo. Here's the new one. You're _still_ going to help with the new Faustus Device, and to make sure you don't try and drag your feet about it, Agent Ward will be staying with Doctor Zola from now until you fix it."

Well shit.

"I approve this new arrangement," Zola said.

Someone grabbed him underneath both arms and hauled him upright. The world swum dizzyingly in and out of focus like a deranged tilt-a-whirl. A gloved hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look straight forwards.

"I do miss him when he's not around," Zola said, and he sounded almost wistful.

The shudder that ran down Ward's spine had nothing to do with the residual effects of electricity.

"No, wait, you can't –"

The door slid shut, isolating Magnus and Fitz from him and Zola.

"Get him back to room three," Zola ordered. "We have work to do."

An affectionate hand ran through Ward's short hair.

"We wouldn't want Mr. Fitz to dawdle, would we? He must be properly motivated."

They were moving again, and Ward was struck with a sudden, violent sense of déjà vu. How many times had he been dragged down this hallway?

As they fastened him down, lying flat on his back with arms outstretched to either side, Ward felt the familiar well of rage in his heart.

IV lines again fastened to the crook of his elbow, the back of his hand, and, just to spice things up, a central line was hooked into his neck.

Zola shuffled forward, limping heavily, but still walking. Maybe Ward hadn't hit him as hard as he thought, and the joint was bruised instead of dislocated.

"Agent Ward, before we begin, I feel I must inform you of something." Zola leaned forwards so his lips were almost touching his ear. "You were always my favorite, and I have never quite forgiven Garrett for taking you from me. We have so much to catch up on."

If his head hadn't been fastened down, Ward would've bitten the doctor's nose off. Instead he settled for snarling. "I've been through worse."

Cold flooded through his veins in a familiar rush that made goosebumps break out along his skin.

"No, Agent Ward," Zola said calmly, smiling. "You really haven't."


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm beginning to wonder if you really want Ward back in one piece," Magnus said, waving his tablet in front of his face to clear the air.

Smoke tendrils wafted lazily up from the catchment arc that Fitz had been working on. It was the seventh failed attempt to energize the equipment. So far the only headway Fitz had made was going from full blown electrical fires to minor fried wires.

"Maybe if you actually let me _sleep_ , I would be able to make sense of these schematics," Fitz growled. He waved the offending piece of paper at the doctor. "Or, you know, if they were in _English_. I'm even willing to accept American English. Maybe even Gaelic. But I don't speak German, never mind _read_ it."

Magnus glared imperiously over his glasses. The bruising around his neck was faded to a few mottled spots around his trachea where they'd been darkest. Watching it heal had become Fitz's only way of telling time. The new lab was as devoid of windows and clocks and schedules as his previous cell.

Fitz picked up a spanner wrench and briefly contemplated whacking Magnus in the face – not to try and escape, but give him another set of bruises so he could track time. Maybe then the bastard would actually give him a watch. Or he could just keep hitting him. Both were equally appealing at this point.

"You've been getting sleep, and food, and water, and reasonable access to the bathroom. You even get to have something constructive to do. I don't know what you're complaining about. That's much better than most guests here," Magnus pointed out.

"Oh yes. Three hours of sleep at sporadic intervals so I can't tell what time it is. Gruel and _no coffee_ , and the equivalent of a prison movie hose down. Very accommodating," Fitz growled. He pulled at one of the loose wires, snipping off the excess and crimping it down. "Can't imagine why people aren't lining the sidewalk to get in here."

"You could be with Doctor Zola," Magnus reminded.

Fitz fumbled with the wires. He tried not to think about the last time he'd seen Ward. He'd lost track of how long they'd been here, and how long they'd been kept apart. It felt like months, and the only reason why he knew that wasn't true was because he would likely be dead at that point, and the cause a toss-up between exhaustion and malnutrition. He'd hardly been hefty when he came here, and even though he hadn't had a mirror since he arrived, he could still see the prominent way his ribs pulled against his skin. He could feel the sharpness of cheekbones he didn't know he had whenever he ran a tired hand over his face. He stopped feeling hungry a while ago, which he knew wasn't a good sign, and the sight and smell of food made his stomach churn.

If he had to guess, he would say they'd been here three weeks, give or take a few days. That was based off of what _he_ looked like.

If he had to guess from Ward, he would've said months.

The only reason they were allowed to interact at all was because Magnus was a sick bastard, and delighted in showing Zola's 'progress' compared to Fitz's.

He yanked at one of the wire clusters, ripping out the obviously burnt copper wiring and tossing them to the side.

"Why don't you just clean slate him?" Fitz grumbled. He replaced the wiring, and swapped out the fuses. "Wouldn't that be faster?"

Magnus huffed. He was busy with his tablet, readjusting designs and calibrations on his 3D model. "Clean slate is a last resort on most, and not a viable option for Agent Ward at all."

"Why not?"

"Because only enhanced people survive it," Magnus said, as if it were obvious. "The Winter Soldier project was only a success because it was almost impossible to kill. Wipe him as many times as you wanted, and whatever Zola's grandfather did to him kept him alive." He shrugged. "Of course, the same regenerative properties that kept him from being killed also meant that he could overcome the brain damage associated with the process , which meant he had to be kept in cryo when not actively in use. Agent Ward, despite what you may believe, is a human being through and through. He would be a vegetable, if not killed outright on the first try."

Fitz gulped. When Ward had mentioned the Clean Slate earlier, he'd made it sound like it was something that he would survive. Maybe he just didn't expect Zola to try and keep him alive as hard as he did.

Magnus continued offhandedly. "Besides, Zola seems to be making progress. By the time you finish this thing, we might not even need it. Well," he amended. "Not for Agent Ward, anyway."

 _An instrument of my own destruction_ , Fitz thought. "You're not much help either," he snapped. "I see why you had to outsource."

The sharp blow to the back of his head made him wince, but it was worth it. "Watch it, Leo. I've been lenient so far, but I think you know by now that can just as easily change."

Fitz didn't respond, and went back to fiddling with the Faustus Device. It was complicated in its intent, but not design. It basically was a cocktail of different psychotropic effects all within one machine. The problem was not the machine. The problem was the subject.

Fitz had been ordered to test the machine four times already, despite numerous protests that it wasn't ready. He suspected that was half the point – for him to see what failure looked like on Ward.

The first time he'd seen Ward after they were separated, he hadn't looked _too_ awful. The bandage around his head had been removed, but judging from the hesitant way he moved around Zola, the implant was still in working order. When Fitz refused to hook him up to the device, Zola took an immense amount of personal pleasure in near electrocuting Ward to death.

The machine didn't work. Ward was defiant as ever, and Fitz took his first beating since arriving.

The second time Ward was brought in, he was having problems walking. He didn't appear injured, but he staggered and reached out of the walls to hold himself upright. They hadn't even bothered to remove the central line catheter from his neck or from his hands. His eyes hardly focused, roaming restlessly around the room even as they hooked him in. He was in the machine for hardly twenty minutes before becoming so violently ill they had to stop before he choked to death on his own vomit.

There was no noticeable difference in Ward's behavior. He actually took a chunk out of Zola's ear when the man leaned in close to see if he was still breathing.

The third time was quite possibly the worst. When they brought Ward in, Fitz was surprised he could still walk. He still staggered, but this time it wasn't because of drugs. The uneven gait was thanks to Zola inserting short, thin metal blades underneath his toenails and leaving them there. Instead of walking flat footed, Ward walked on the blades, trying to keep pressure off his toes and the balls of his feet. When Magnus pointed out that type of punishment was usually for fingernails instead of toes, Zola simply shrugged, running his fingers over the back of Ward's hands.

"His hands are one of my favorite parts about him," he explained. "I could never do such damage to something so beautiful."

It was disturbing the way that Zola acted towards Ward. The most aggressive he ever got in front of Fitz was the first incident with the implant. But any other time he touched Ward, whether to strap him into the device or move him from the room, it was almost delicate. Gentle. _Fond_. His hands would linger on Ward's hands and face more than anywhere else, and the look on his face was close to something Fitz might consider adoration.

For his part, Ward, if freed, would generally wrench his arm away, or twist his face away from the much smaller doctor. He seemed okay with the violence, but the second a gentle touch came into contact with him, he would snap – sometimes literally, if all that he had were his teeth. Zola's torn ear was a constant reminder of it.

The fourth time was when Fitz realized that Ward was losing. He didn't walk in under his own power, but instead was dragged, supported under each arm by an armed guard. Though conscious, his head lolled against his chest until they fastened him in and forced his head upright. One arm still had the IV catheter, but there was a bright patch of blood on his scrubs from where he'd pulled the one from his left arm and from his neck. Hand shaped bruises mottled his arms where he was obviously held down on either side. Much more disturbing than the bruises was his reaction to touch.

Whereas before, Ward would react violently when Zola touched him and tried to get away - now he simply _shook_. And it was worse with Zola's almost affectionate gestures. The way he squeezed his eyes shut, bent his head without turning away but still flinched at the contact. The look on Zola's face as he pet his prized possession's head, like a proud owner of a beaten dog, made Fitz's stomach churn.

Zola was training him to be afraid of kindness.

Fitz tried not to imagine what Zola could have done to make a man like Ward quake at the affectionate brush of a hand across his own, and hardly react at all to a blow to the face, or metal rods shoved under nails through patches of nerves. As terrifying as it was, if that had been all that changed, Fitz might have been able to keep pretending that he could get through this. That perhaps they weren't both broken beyond repair.

Except it wasn't.

When Fitz went to check the IV they replaced in his central line, Ward's gaze settled on him. His dark eyes were fever bright and glassy with drugs, but he clearly recognized Fitz.

"Thomas?" he whispered.

Just not as Fitz himself.

It didn't take long for Fitz to realize Ward was hallucinating more than he was anchored to reality, and worse, that Zola encouraged the delusions.

In a way, it was used to punish them both. When Zola was particularly pleased with Ward's 'progress', he would let the two prisoners see each other, but only if Fitz went along with the deception and didn't correct Ward when he called him Thomas. If he went along, Ward actually earned a respite. They would let him sleep. They would tend his wounds.

If he didn't play the game…

Well, he only tried it once.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were preying on Ward's only moderately happy memory of childhood as the key to breaking his mind. He was afraid of touch, unless it was from 'Thomas'. If Thomas was around, then he was safe. He would start to let his guard down. And Thomas was always present when he was he was put in the machine.

Ward wasn't lying when he said that everyone broke. _Shattered_ might be a more appropriate term.

At least that's how he felt, watching the once defiant and arrogant specialist drag himself across the floor to lay his head in his lap, face pressed against Fitz's side, seeking shelter from whatever horrors Zola doled out. Sometimes he shook so bad that it was hard to tell if they were seizures. Other times hallucinations were bad enough that Zola pursued him even in his nightmares, and sleep was more a burden than a relief.

Or Christian.

Many times Ward couldn't keep it straight. Whatever drugs Zola had him on left Ward without a sense of time and place. Sometimes it was Garret. Sometimes Zola. Worse was when it was Christian, because all Ward did was cower, pleading not to have to hurt Thomas.

At first, Fitz had been hesitant to touch Ward, given his reaction to Zola's ministrations. He didn't want to make it worse. But he couldn't sit there and _not_ try and comfort him, the little time they were alone together. The only place that was safe to touch was his head, as long as it wasn't his face, and Fitz had taken to absently tracing his fingers across Ward's scalp. It seemed to help, once Ward realized that it wasn't meant to hurt. It was the only time that Ward slept.

If someone had ever told Fitz he would one day be petting Ward's head like a cat as the specialist used his legs as pillows, Fitz would've laughed until he cried.

Now it just made him want to cry.

It was harder and harder to be separated though, and Fitz understood that was Magnus's intention. Every time the guards came in to collect Ward, Fitz fought against them. Every time he lost. Every time, guards held him back, even as he strained against them with everything he had, and every time Ward would grow panicky, frantically trying to get back to the little brother he thought he was leaving behind. And then the next time he would see him, they were strapping him back into the device, preparing to tear his mind to shreds.

"Earth to Leo," Magnus said, waving his tablet in front of Fitz's face.

Fitz blinked owlishly, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. "What?" He squinted at the doctor, who was watching him curiously.

"I've been trying to get your attention. Where'd you go just now?" Magnus asked.

"Nowhere. I was just thinking that the machine isn't what's causing problems," Fitz said. He was telling the truth. The device worked fine. He'd managed to make the process relatively painless – it Ward's constant resistance that caused problems. He knew he was causing damage every time he put the other agent in, but no matter what he did, Ward couldn't be convinced resistance was futile.

In a way, it was fascinating. Ward's mind had an insane ability to tune out suggestion, and if he didn't tune it out, it took a very short period of time for him to realize what happened. The only suggestion that he didn't seem able to overcome was how he recognized Fitz as Thomas.

Without really thinking, he muttered out loud. "If we could just get him to latch onto an idea that he _wants_ , it might work."

Too late, he realized Magnus heard him. He could see the gears turning in the doctor's head, and a slow, Grinch-like smile spread across his face.

"Oh, _Leo_ , I _knew_ you were the right man for the job," Magnus said.

 _Shit_.

"It's a ridiculous idea," Fitz dismissed, trying for casual and failing miserably.

"No, no, you're on to something. It's not necessarily that we have to get him to an idea, we have to get him to a _time_. Garrett has notes on how his older brother was fairly successful at planting suggestions in his head when he was younger, which means that at some point his defenses weren't as built up." Magnus tapped a finger against his lip. "It's a shame he's dead. I would like to ask him a few questions about that…"

"It couldn't have worked too well since he went back and torched both him and his parents," Fitz pointed out. "I'm less inclined to find myself a victim of revenge arson."

Magnus waved his hand dismissively. "That's beside the point. The point is that for years, it _did_ work. He was open for suggestion. His mother did it, his brother did it, even Garrett managed to earn his loyalty. We just have to recreate something, force his mind into that state that he was in." Magnus suddenly laughed, clapping his hands together. "So _that's_ what Zola has been playing at."

"What?"

Magnus grabbed Fitz's shoulders, shaking him. " _You_ are going to be the key to this. To hell with wasting time trying to get him to accept an order. We're just going to make it impossible for him to ignore."

Fitz's mind spun. "What?" he echoed, feeling stupid. "You're just going clean slate him anyway? I thought you said that would kill him!"

"No, no, we're not wiping him. We're going to deconstruct him." The glint in Magnus's eye was positively gleeful, a touch of madness visible for the world to see. "We just have to get his mindset back to the way it was when he was defending Thomas, before he ever thought of himself as the villain."

 _That_ did not bode well for anyone. Not for Ward, and definitely not for Fitz if they expected him to fulfill the role of Thomas in this delusion.

Magnus was already typing away at the device's control center, and Fitz wished he understood more about psychology than engineering. He might have a slightly better understanding of just what the hell the lunatic was up to.

Magnus pressed the intercom button for Zola's lab. "Zola, we've had a breakthrough. Bring him in."

" _We're busy_ ," Zola protested. " _Can't this wait_?"

"No. Now bring him in," Magnus said irritably, and hung up on the German. "Little prick…" he grumbled. He turned back to Fitz. "Now for your part."

Fitz automatically shook his head. "I don't want any part of this."

Magnus put a comforting hand on Fitz's shoulder, smiling condescendingly. "Leo. It's a little late for that, wouldn't you say?"

The reminder that Fitz not only helped them redesign the device but strung Ward along in thinking they were brothers was like a slap to the face. Fitz recoiled.

"Just think of what Ward would do to you now if you suddenly took his baby brother away from him. What do you think he would do if he understood the depths of your betrayal? Really, Leo, I'm just looking out for you. If you know what's best for _both_ of you, you'll go along with this." He explained his plan for Ward, and Fitz's part in it, laying out in not so uncertain details what he would do to _both_ of them if Fitz failed to comply.

And to his eternal shame, Fitz nodded, and felt the last of his soul wither and die.


	12. Chapter 12

The doors slid open just as Fitz was finishing the final programming on the device, and Zola stepped in. Guards flanked him on either side, as per usual, and Ward was surprisingly on his feet and under his own power.

He was also high as a kite, if his blown and uneven pupils were anything to go by. He stumbled, limping still from the damage to his feet, and he kept one arm out for balance. Attached to his neck was something new – instead of the central line catheter, it looked more like an insulin pump. He doubted that's what the tiny machine was pumping into Ward's system.

"What's with that thing?" Magnus asked, glancing at the device.

Zola shrugged. "I was in the middle of something I would prefer not to have to restart. So I brought it along with me."

Magnus huffed, rolling his eyes. "He's going to be worthless in the field if he hasn't got any cognitive function left. Do you even know what you're giving him?"

Zola bristled indignantly. "Of course I do. I am a doctor, after all."

Magnus raised a dubious eyebrow. "You know, I don't know if that still counts if you blatantly disregard the Hippocratic Oath."

"I didn't say I was a _medical_ doctor, did I?" Zola said. He turned to Ward, who swayed dangerously on his feet. "Agent Ward, you know where you're supposed to go." He indicated the Faustus Machine with a nod of his head. "Go on."

Ward hesitated, glancing around the room like he wasn't entirely sure where he was, but Fitz recognized that searching look. He knew exactly where he was. He was just looking for a person.

"Come on," he said quietly, stepping away from the machine. "I'm right here." Fitz held his hand out for Ward to take, and he did so without question. The corner of his lips twitched upwards in an unsure smile, and Fitz really wished he knew where Ward went in his head. It was an odd defense mechanism, though not completely unheard of – a form of dissociative personality disorder. He could survive almost anything simply because he could shut out the outside world. The problem was that normally he would revert to stone cold killer who operated more like a machine than man, but thanks to Zola's meddling, his protective world became a made up creation with just him and Thomas, in a world where he accepted his punishment to protect his brother.

It was that protective barrier that Magnus wanted to crack.

Ward followed obediently after Fitz, neither resisting nor protesting as Fitz fastened him into the device. That probably bothered Fitz more than anything. Every time Ward was put in the device, it was Fitz who put on the restraints and wired him in. And every time, Ward let him, with less and less resistance, despite knowing what would happen. The fact that he willingly _accepted_ pain from the shadow of his brother was unnerving, in the same way that he sought solace from pain in the same person who caused it.

"Hey, Tommy," Ward rasped. His voice was barely above a whisper, and Fitz doubted the two bickering scientists could hear him. "How's your eye?"

Fitz ignored the question, keeping his focus resolutely on the straps as he fastened them around Ward's wrist. His black eye he'd gotten from one of the guards was mostly gone, and the fracture to his cheek healed. "It's fine," he whispered back. "You?"

Ward shrugged as best he could fully restrained. "Fine."

Looks like they were both liars now.

"So what is this breakthrough you have planned for my subject?" Zola asked. "So far I think you've done more damage than I have with this… _thing_ of yours."

Magnus shot him a scathing look. "We were just going about it the wrong way. Thanks to Leo over there, it finally occurred to be that instead of trying to breach the barriers he has in place, we're just going to take them down entirely."

Zola looked non-plussed. "And how, exactly, do you think you're going to manage that? It's been weeks, and I'm only _just_ starting to make progress with the GH-119 and external stimulation."

Translation: he's finally starting to break thanks to indiscriminate use of non-tested drugs and physical torture.

"Yes, yes, Garrett made progress too. The point isn't that he never _makes_ progress, it's the length of time that he maintains it. Right now he's right where we need him, subjectively. You've at least trained him to consistently retreat to the same protective deluded state. He still comes out of it though, right? He can still resist?"

Zola nodded. "He hasn't been recently."

Magnus waved his hand. "That has nothing to do with us. That has to do with _him_." Magnus pointed to Fitz. "As long as we have the threat that if he resists, his 'brother' takes his punishment, Agent Ward lets us do whatever we want. He's still _capable_ of resistance, and if given enough time, I think he's going to go right back to the way he was."

Fitz hated the way they would talk about them as if they weren't even there. Ward may be mentally checked out for the most part, but that didn't mean he was. He no longer cared what Ward did in the past. He didn't care how many people died at his hands. If this is what it was like for him _before_ Garrett pulled him into the field as a sleeper agent, he didn't blame him for his warped view of the world. Hell, even the truth serum incident on the Bus on their first day, which at the time had been pretty funny, now seemed twisted and cruel when put in context with the rest of Ward's life.

Fitz didn't think he could even force aspirin on someone with a migraine anymore. Simple choices were never going to be taken for granted again.

Ward's breath suddenly caught, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hands fisting into white knuckled grips on the supports.

"What's wrong?" Fitz asked quietly, trying to keep Zola and Magnus from noticing.

Ward bit his lip, hard enough he drew blood. "N-nothing."

God only knew what the hell the side effects were from whatever that blue stuff in the pump was, but Fitz regrettably had more than enough experience with Ward going through them.

"World moving too fast again?"

"Too loud."

Fitz nodded in understanding even though Ward couldn't see, and carefully put both hands up around Ward's head, covering his ears. It didn't necessarily stop the noise, but it at least muffled it enough that Ward gave an audible sigh of relief.

"What are you doing?" Zola demanded, breaking away from his argument with Magnus. "I told you, repeatedly, not to touch him once he was in the device. Are you so eager for another lesson?"

Fitz unwillingly shuddered at the memory, but he held steadfast against the smaller doctor.

Magnus stepped in before the doctor could do anything. "You're entirely too possessive. Leo is doing what he's supposed to. Now, if you were listening, I was saying that all we have to do is make him unable to form those protective walls long enough that we can use the device on him."

Zola glared at Fitz, and Fitz glared defiantly right back. It was the doctor who looked away first.

"You want to give him a chemical lobotomy and impair the function of his limbic system so he can't help but let the suggestions of the Faustus Device in," Zola summarized, turning back to Magnus.

Magnus grimaced. "Crudely put, but yes. A temporary one, anyway. We just need a root suggestion behind his defense walls and we should be okay."

"And you plan on using your… _protégé_ here, to help you with that?" Zola didn't sound convinced.

"Young Leo here is already established as a fixture behind that wall. As far as Agent Ward is concerned, this is Thomas, beloved younger brother who he'll do anything to save this time around."

"You want to use _him_ as the anchor? That means you have to keep them together. What good does that do us in the field?"

Magnus shrugged. "That's not much of a concern for me. As proven already, Leo can hold his own in the field with Ward, and he's not immune to the device. Once we establish him as a control for Agent Ward, we'll be able to establish control over him."

Fitz had to force himself to relax his hands, even as the rest of him shook. He knew that was Magnus's plan, but it didn't change how he felt about it. Somewhere in that rage against Zola and Magnus was something similar for SHIELD and his teammates. There had better be one hell of an explanation as to why they couldn't come and get them in the month they'd been captive. Right now, the only excuse he was willing to accept was they were in a trans-dimensional pocket of space that was inaccessible unless it was during the Harvest Moon and all nine planets aligned.

Not that he was bitter. Nope. Not him.

Zola contemplated the proposal for a moment, tapping one stubby finger against his chin. "What's the likely damage?"

"No more than we're already doing."

Zola sighed. "He's my favorite. I would be most…unhappy if something permanent happened. But carry on."

Fitz really wished that Zola was feeling just a little more possessive about his toys, because he really, _really_ didn't want to be a part of what was coming next.

Magnus almost clapped his hands in excitement, but managed to restrain himself. "Excellent! We'll leave that pump where it is. It should help the process along quicker, and it looks like it's already saturated his system."

If that was code for starting mild absence and myoclonic seizures, then sure. Ward was starting to twitch sporadically, hands clenching and unclenching, his gaze alternating between staring a thousand miles away and on Fitz's face. The restraints pulled and creaked every time one of his muscles seized, pulling against them.

Magnus reached over Fitz's hand, humming happily to himself as he placed various electrodes against Ward's forehead. "These will keep a better eye on his brain activity." He fussed over the lines, completely ignoring both Fitz and Ward as if they weren't anything more than dolls. "And this," he said, pulling over a medical tray lined with various instruments, "should be the final dose."

Without bothering to use the IV port in his hand, Magnus swabbed the side of Ward's neck, just above where the pump was attached. Ward jerked his head fractionally to the side, and Magnus made to back hand him when Fitz pushed closer, blocking Ward's face.

"He's not resisting!" Fitz said quickly. "It's just cold and you startled him."

"Hmph," Magnus grumbled. "Specialists used to be made of stronger stuff."

"I thought you wanted him weaker," Fitz spat back. "So far he's still stronger than everything you've done."

"Now you have to convince him otherwise," Magnus warned, and emptied the contents of the 30ml syringe into Ward's neck.

The reaction didn't take long. Magnus warned him it wouldn't, but seeing it instead of hearing about it were two totally different things.

Fitz could feel Ward's pulse skyrocket, heard the shrill alarm of the monitors as all of his vitals went haywire. Ward's eyes shot open, dark brown irises swallowed whole by blown pupils and his chest heaved as he tried to breathe through the pain.

"I'm sorry," Fitz said, hands never leaving the side of Ward's face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just please – don't fight. Don't fight, for once in your life, don't fight!"

Ward's face twisted in agony, tendons in his neck sticking out in stark contrast of his skin. And oh god, that _sound_. Nobody, _nothing_ should be able to make that noise.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Fitz repeated frantically, trying to keep Ward's heart rate down from stroke inducing staccato. "I know it hurts. I know it hurts. Shhh…" It was nonsense, and he knew it, but it was what he often repeated when they were alone in recovery. Apparently Thomas was someone Ward always sought shelter with, and made it that much easier for Fitz to calm him. To betray and manipulate him.

"It's working!" Magnus said. "Just look at these scans!"

"Don't fight. Please, don't fight. Just let them in, and it won't hurt. It won't hurt, I promise," Fitz swore.

Ward twisted his face away from him, tears of pain coursing down his cheeks as Magnus's concoction tore his mind apart.

"Fascinating," Fitz heard Zola mutter, looking over at the screens. "Just look at the spikes when Mr. Fitz speaks to him."

"I _told_ you he was the right man for the job," Magnus said smugly. "Okay Leo, I've done my part. Now do yours, or I'll fulfill the rest of my promise."

Fitz spared a moment to glare at the scientist, who looked unaffected by the withering scowl. If Fitz ever got the chance, that man would be the first to die. Slowly. Painfully. Creatively.

"Grant," he called, trying to keep his voice as smooth as possible. "Grant, hey, look at me. Look at me."

Ward's unfocused gaze shifted towards Fitz, but couldn't stay there. His eyes started to roll, and Fitz shook him slightly.

"Grant, it's Thomas. Tommy, yeah? Come on. Just look at me. Come on Grant. You can do this," Fitz pleaded, hating himself with every poisoned word. "That's right. Just look at me."

Predictably, as soon as he heard Thomas's name, Ward fought his way back to awareness. He forced his eyes open, squinting against the pain in his head. "'mas?" he slurred, his voice cracking on the word.

"Yeah, yeah, that's right. It's me. I need you to let go," Fitz soothed, brushing sweat dampened hair away from Ward's face. "It hurts because you're fighting. Don't fight. Don't fight and it will stop."

Fitz could see the war going on in Ward's head, but the conditioning Zola had started weeks ago with Fitz/Thomas as Ward's safe haven wormed its way through his defenses. It was hard to describe, how he could watch the man before him struggle against his own nature. It was even harder to watch.

In the end, Ward's walls came crumbling down, and Fitz knew, knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Ward was fully aware of the betrayal of his younger brother to the enemy. Worse was that for the first time in his life, he couldn't stop it. There was no safety net for his mind to retreat to. It was just a raw, open wound for HYDRA to dig around in, stitching it back the way they wanted and making him into the monster he always believed he was.

"I'm sorry," Fitz whispered. "I'm so, _so_ sorry Grant."

Sorry for everything he'd done. And sorry for what he was about to do.

He heard Magnus and Zola congratulating themselves, praising him for his insight into Agent Ward's defenses. That with this breakthrough, Agent Ward of HYDRA would be the first of a new generation. A spearhead for the new HYDRA – all of the ruthless training, and none of the variable of free will, little more than a machine, an instrument of destruction.

Fitz knew what Ward would choose. Knew what he would want, if he still had a will of his own, because Fitz wanted it too.

Dead was better than a slave. Better than being stripped down to nothing without even your mind to call your own. It didn't matter what transpired between them before. There was no before. This shared hell was all there was.

And fuck it all if Fitz was going to let it stand.

He knew if he killed Ward, there would just be someone else in that device. Magnus already said they weren't essential, just preferred. Even if they were dead, HYDRA would continue.

He leaned upwards towards Grant's face, and whispered in his ear. "Grant. Help me. Help me, Grant. They're going to throw me in the well again. They're going to kill me, Grant…"

The words had exactly the effect Fitz hoped for – Ward may be unable to block emotion, but right now he wanted him to feel. He wanted that rage, that anger of a defining moment in Ward's life to come to the surface. He wanted the only thing on Ward's mind to be that day when Christian made Ward throw Thomas into the well to drown. This time, there was no mental safety net to keep that rage in control. It was the same effect except worse than the berserker staff. There were no inhibitions. No ability to control, catalog, or force an emotion away. Everything was just on the surface.

Fitz heard the thready beep of the heart monitor slow marginally, even and loud, could see the way that his eyes stopped rolling and focused on Fitz, watched as the man before him went from near stroke inducing symptoms to single minded rage.

"What the…what are you doing?" Magnus said, tapping furiously at the tablet. "Get away from him!"

Fitz ripped away the bindings, yanking Ward's arms and shoulders free. He tore the pump away from his neck, ignoring the spurt of blood and continued to untie Ward.

"They're going to kill me, Grant," Fitz hissed, pulling Ward's face towards his. "Help me, Grant. Don't let them kill me."

Ward was a loaded gun, just waiting to be aimed. Magnus and Zola wouldn't live to regret making Fitz into his only trigger. It was awful, and it was terrifying, and Fitz felt like he was tainting Grant's only memory of a long lost innocent little brother into something twisted and malicious.

But Ward was his only weapon.

And he pulled the trigger.

" _Kill them first._ "


	13. Chapter 13

Fitz had never seen Ward fight. He _thought_ he had. But he was so very, very wrong. He'd seen Ward _defend_. He knew, peripherally, that it took a broken larynx and a nail gun to the foot for May to beat him in their one on one fight. He was used to May, Bobbi and Skye – all of them had to rely on out maneuvering their opponents due to the inevitable difference in size.

Ward didn't have that problem. He was six three, solid, wiry muscle, and a lifetime of rage behind every blow. He didn't have to hit someone more than once to put them down.

But just because he didn't _have_ to, didn't mean he wasn't _going_ to.

Ward slammed the heel of his hand into the first guard's chin, rocketing his head back so fast and with so much force he snapped their neck like it was made of glass. Before his body had a chance to hit the ground, Ward already had his rifle in his hand, swinging around to fire at Zola and Magnus. He kicked out his foot at the second guard's knee and it bent inversely like a chicken leg. Ward finished him off with a twist of his neck that was so quick and so violent it didn't untwist when he let him fall.

Magnus took a blast from the ICER rifle to the face, and Zola ducked out of the room, pulling an alarm as he went.

"Come on, Thomas," Ward growled, and picked one of the handguns from guards up. He took two strides across the room, and shot Magnus twice more in the head. Blood and brain matter spattered, flecking Ward's cheek.

Apparently, the handguns were still regular bullets.

Fitz was a little stunned. In less than a minute, two guards were dead and disarmed, and Magnus…the man who had tortured, starved and experimented on them, was dead. He half expected there to be some sort of epic showdown like in the movies. He was almost disappointed.

On the other hand, dead is dead.

Ward tossed him the handgun and Fitz fumbled as he caught it. He was just happy he didn't accidentally shoot himself.

Ward kept the ICER rifle, and lead them out of the hated room.

The hallway was a flurry of activity – the lights were on emergency power, and unarmed doctors and scientists in their white lab coats ran from them.

Ward didn't seem to be feeling at all magnanimous. He shot those who tried to flee in the back, and as he passed them, he stomped the base of his heel against their axis vertebra. If they weren't dead, they were permanently paralyzed.

It was with frightening ease that Ward cleared the hallways. Fitz wondered if perhaps he had been taking it easy on them every other time they'd gotten into a fight with him on the other side of SHIELD.

Something about the whole thing wasn't making sense though, but Fitz didn't have the luxury of time to wonder about it. It seemed like the security forces were split in half – some barreled around corners so fast and into direct line of fire from Ward, he had to wonder if they even knew what the alarms were for.

One soldier didn't go down easily, missing the shot fired from the rifle and launching himself at Ward.

When the women fought, there was a sort of grace to their movement, like an incredibly violent dance. It was using their opponents' force against them, lots of blocking and bending.

Ward was nothing but rage. There was no elegance, no fancy moves. He grabbed the man by his head, bringing his knee up repeatedly into the man's unguarded face until it was little more than shattered bone and blood. Another one he slammed an elbow into their cheek so hard Fitz saw it cave in, unhinging their jaw. He'd lost the rifle at some point, and it hardly seem to matter. It was all Fitz could do to follow in his wake of destruction.

They may have made it out on their own, if it hadn't been for Zola.

Ward just downed another soldier when he shrieked in pain, grabbing onto his head as he doubled over. And he didn't stop. He dug his fingers into the back of his skull, frantically gouging at his skin hard enough he drew blood.

"You honestly thought that you would escape?" Zola snarled. The tiny man stepped from the shadows in typical villain fashion. He jabbed the remote button again, and Ward collapsed to the ground, howling in pain. "You thought I would let you go _again_?"

He took his finger off the remote for a moment, and kicked Ward, hard, in the side, flipping him onto his back.

"No, Agent Ward, you are either _mine_ or you're _dead_ ," Zola sneered. He hit the remote again.

Fitz's brain obnoxiously thought of the final scene where the Emperor Palpatine tortured Luke Skywalker. _What the bloody hell, brain_?

"So much talent gone to waste! You could have been one of the originals! One of the secret warriors! Your _whole life_ was meant for this, for _generations_ , and you thought you could avoid it just because you didn't _want_ to?" Zola punctuated every sentence with a kick, and Ward could do little else besides lay there and take it. One final blow from the doctor's booted foot broke Ward's tibia with an audible crack and Ward screamed.

That was Fitz's fault. The chemicals they'd introduced to his system stripped away his amygdala's ability to regulate emotion. People like Ward, they still _felt_ fear – they were just able to choose whether or not to acknowledge it. Pain had the same effect - all field agents were trained to block it out, to overcome instead of being overwhelmed.

As long as it had been overpowering rage, Ward didn't have room for anything else, and Fitz used the memory of the well to make sure of it.

Now?

Fear, pain, anger, despair all fought for dominance. There was no ability to push through it, no choice but to feel and feel _everything_.

The floors shook, and the lights flickered and Fitz had to grab the wall to stay upright.

 _What the hell was going on_?

He could hear shouting, gun fire, and another explosion rocked the foundation.

It also kicked Fitz's mind into actually _functioning_.

Zola's finger hovered over the remote, his face twisted in apoplectic vindictiveness and looking every inch the mad scientist.

Until Fitz fired a single round to his chest.

The doctor froze, glancing down at his chest as blood pulsed over his white lab shirt. His hand fluttered uselessly towards his chest, before dropping to his knees, and fell backwards. Fitz wasn't good enough to deliver a killing shot from any distance – this wasn't the movies, and he'd only ever fired a gun a handful of times, and under range conditions, not the world crumbling around him.

Fitz didn't even spare him a second thought as he rushed towards Ward's crumpled form. He didn't even bother to check if Zola was dead. He didn't care. He did, however, grab the remote that fell from Zola's open hand and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Come on, Grant. We can't stay here. I know it hurts, but think of something else. Anything else!" Fitz said, almost as much for Ward as for himself. His hands shook with adrenaline, and his poor health for the past several weeks was catching up to him. His chest burned with exertion, and even as he pulled Ward upright he felt his knees threaten to give out.

Ward leaned heavily on him, trying to follow him. He couldn't give up. Not now. Not after everything.

The corridor had more corpses than living people now, but Fitz still kept an eye out. He only had to use the gun a few times, and unbelievably hit each target. He should feel something, anything. He was killing people. He'd never killed anyone before in his life.

And yet…he felt no more regret than if he'd squashed an ant with his boot.

The further they went though, the harder it became. It felt like the air was growing thinner, and both men were gasping like fish out of water. The longer they took, the more Ward leaned on the smaller man until Fitz was practically dragging him. One quick glance down and Fitz wished he hadn't. Ward was leaning on him so heavily because the break to the lower half of his leg was a compound fracture – he could see the blood and sharp edge of the broken bone in the garish light poking through the tear in Ward's scrubs.

"Jesus," Fitz swore, and stumbled when the floor shook again.

He still had no idea what the hell was going on. Maybe HYDRA was under attack. Maybe they'd made their secret evil base somewhere near the San Andreas. He didn't particularly care, except it was a welcome distraction.

Ward was shaking. Shock was setting in, and with the drug induced sensory overload, he was beginning to shut down. Fitz couldn't carry him much further, and he felt a hot well of anger and frustration bubble up.

They were so close.

The shouting and shooting were getting closer, and Fitz glanced wildly about for some place to hide. He didn't care who was shooting, it wouldn't bode well for them. He kicked in the nearest door and almost cried when it was nothing more than a linen closet.

Stairs would've been nice.

So would a bloody exit.

He heaved Ward inside, slamming the door shut behind them. Only dull blue emergency lighting illuminated the small space, and they both practically tumbled to the floor, Ward crying out in pain as he hit the ground.

Something felt like he'd been punched, hard, in the stomach, and Fitz didn't even have breath to yell. It spread – like the feeling of pulling a tendon in your foot and it didn't hurt so bad until suddenly it did and it took the breath right out of you.

He touched a hand to his stomach and it came away red with blood. He didn't even know what happened. When did he get injured? Was he shot? Did he get stabbed? Fitz almost felt like giggling for an insane moment because really universe? Fuck you too.

And then it hit him and he stifled a sob.

It was over. The end of the line. This was it. They were going to die at the hands of madmen, alone and suffering in the dark.

Fitz felt his breath catch, his chest heaving with emotion as he tried not to hyperventilate. He didn't want to die. He didn't. Not like this. Not now. He wasn't even thirty.

He could hear footsteps pounding down the hallway outside, yelling and shouting so loud he wanted to scream to drown them out.

What was worse than hearing his own shaking breath, feeling the rattle of his teeth as they chattered together from shock, was listening to Ward.

Ward, who was strong enough to take on the berserker staff, who defied HYDRA's years of brainwashing attempts and torture at the hands of the closest thing he had to a parent, sat opposite him, shaking and rocking back and forth, hands pressed firmly to either side of his head as he tried to block the world out.

This was his fault. He'd undone everything that made Ward the man he was. He stripped away every safety net his mind had, made him unable to shut things out. Gone was the borderline sociopath, but in his place, a very broken man existed, left to try and deal with the horrors of HYDRA alone.

He couldn't let that man fall back into HYDRA's hands. He couldn't let Zola have his prized pet back. Not now. Not ever.

It was time to redefine winning.

"Grant!" Fitz called, voice wavering with the knowledge of what he was about to do. He tried to make it sound light, casual. Friendly.

Ward glanced up, eyes red rimmed and glassy from unshed tears.

Jesus, what had he done? He'd taken a self-sufficient specialist and reduced him to someone incapable of defense, on any and every level.

"Come here," Fitz said, forcing his voice to sound even, hands outstretched. He could hear the edge of desperation, and he knew Ward could too. Before, Ward would've never listened, but now…Ward practically crawled to him. His left arm was hanging uselessly beside him, fingers curled loosely and unable to straighten. Fitz didn't even know what happened to it, and it didn't matter. His leg dragged behind him, leaving a swathe of blood in his wake.

"Tommy," Ward rasped, and in the dim light flickering overhead, Fitz could see his eyes were red because he _had_ been crying. "You okay?"

Fitz coughed and laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. They were dying. Both of them. If not from their current injuries, then at the less than gentle hands of Zola and HYDRA's science division, and Ward still asked if his little brother was okay.

"Y-yeah," Fitz said, trying to smile and failing miserably. "Yeah, I'm okay. You?"

Ward leaned in, pressing his face against Fitz's neck in an awkward embrace. "No."

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut. He felt one hot tear escape. "It's okay, Grant. It'll be fine. I'm not going to let them have you." He tightened his grip on the gun in his hand.

It wasn't an ICER gun. This one had bullets, and Fitz had been counting them.

Well, it had _a_ bullet.

Ward's chest heaved in a near silent sob. Whether it was from relief because he believed his little brother would get out of this, or because he knew exactly what Fitz meant. He tried not to think about it.

"Come here," he said, voice rough. He put one hand around the back of Ward's head, felt the tackiness of drying blood there, and pulled him closer. Ward's chin now rested on his shoulder, his head aligned with Fitz's. He could feel the trembling frame and he hugged Ward's body closer to him. "Close your eyes and count to thirty. It'll be like hide and seek."

The shouting outside was getting louder. And closer.

"It's better this way," Fitz whispered, and put the gun to side of his head. At this close range, one bullet would be enough for both of them. "No one is going to hurt you again. Not even me."

The only response he got was Ward pressed his head closer to his as he hunched forwards. His hand snaked up to cover Fitz's in silent acknowledgement that this was okay, that he understood, and that he wasn't going to let him do it alone.

It was as close to forgiveness as either of them would get.

Fitz flicked the safety off.

He didn't know why he hesitated. It was barely a moment. It was long enough.

The door blew backwards, the force of it being ripped off its hinges creating enough of a vacuum that he felt the gun slip, pulling out of his grasp even as he tightened his finger. The shot went wide, missing them both and Fitz wanted to cry.

His ears were ringing, and he heard someone shouting. Several someone's actually. There were bright lights and dust and a flurry of movement he couldn't keep up with.

Bits and pieces came to him through the ringing in his ears.

"Shots fired!"

"Put the gun down!"

"Drop it Ward!"

"Get away from him!"

He knew those voices.

Ward's hand tightened painfully against his own before he was suddenly being ripped away.

"Grant!" he protested, lunging forwards towards the other man. Hands stopped him, pushing him back even as they pulled Ward away.

There were too many hands, too many voices, too many lights and it was _too much_.

Above it all, he could hear Ward screaming for his little brother.

Mindless action overcame senseless thought and Fitz slapped restraining hands away. He pushed towards the sound of Ward's voice, and wildly grabbed for him. His fingers barely brushed against Ward's outstretched hand, enough to ensure that the other man was still alive.

"I'm sorry!" Fitz shouted, as arms wrapped around his waist, around his shoulders and pulled him back.

" _Tommy_!" Ward called, panicking.

Fitz was having problems focusing. He heard familiar voices, saw familiar badges and faces but his mind blanked on why. Everything in him was focused on trying to get back to Ward, because he'd made a promise. He could hear Ward snarl in defiance, and then suddenly the agent was dragging his captors forwards instead of the other way around. Despite the use of only one leg and one arm, he could see that Ward was actually starting to slide out of their grasp.

"Enough!"

" _No_!" Fitz screamed, but it did nothing to stop the harsh blow of a rifle butt against Ward's temple.

The specialist collapsed in their arms, like a marionette whose strings were cut.

He'd failed. He failed, he failed, failedfailedfailedfailed-

"Fitz!"

Hands, gentle, small hands pressed against his cheeks, forcing him to look away from Ward as his body was dragged away. A woman, a very familiar woman smiled back at him, though he could see the fear in her eyes, hear the waver in her voice.

"…Jemma?"

Jemma smiled, nodding vigorously. The motion made the world spin even worse. "That's right. That's right. It's me, Fitz. It's all of us. You're going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."

His vision tunneled, wiping out everything in existence except the feel of her hands on his face, the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice. He had to tell her something. He had to make sure she knew. They all had to know.

"I _lied_ to him," he said.

He could see she didn't understand. She didn't know what it meant. He felt his legs give out, was dimly aware of people shouting for a medic. Hands pressed against the wound in his stomach, and his vision washed in white.

Too many hands, too many voices, too much sound, too much light. It was _too much_.

And he had had enough.


	14. Chapter 14

Ward had never been particularly fond of sleep. Even when he was a teenager, four hours was generally enough, and insomnia had followed him into adulthood. For him it had never been a refuge – it was always a vulnerability, but at least the actual sleep wasn't so bad.

Now it was a hated, horrible thing. He was no longer allowed to sleep on his own, it was at Zola's discretion. If he was tired, Zola pumped him full of adrenaline. If he wasn't tired, Zola swapped it out for sedatives. The few times he did manage to drift, nightmares plagued him, leaving him without a sense of time and place, unsure if he was awake or dreaming or dead and rotting in hell for his sins.

Which is why when he woke, it wasn't gradual, and he was immediately in fight or flight mode.

He wasn't even sure what woke him. The voices in his dreams didn't match events and Zola was running his fingers up his arm and suddenly he was awake and swinging – except he was tied down.

Again.

The lights were too bright and his mouth felt like cotton and the voices were telling him to calm down and _no_ he was not going to calm down.

Except he couldn't move, either. His left arm was bound to his chest it what felt like a vice and his right leg felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

And _ow_ his head.

"Agent Ward?"

Zola lost his accent.

There was a shrill beeping in the background and he idly wondered if he was flat lining again. He would be surprised if Zola hadn't managed serious heart damage with as many times as he'd stopped it – purposely or otherwise.

"Agent Ward, I need you to calm down."

It took longer than it should've, but the voice was starting to register. Midwest. No inflection. Familiar.

"Boss?" his rasped, and realized he sounded like he'd swallowed glass and it felt like it too.

There was a moment of silence, and Ward blinked rapidly to clear his vision. It would help considerably if the lights were lower.

"It's been a while since you called me that."

The lights dimmed considerably and the world finally came into focus. He kind of wished it hadn't. Very familiar white and bullet proof glass walls greeted him. He could finally hear the familiar whir and click of machinery and lab equipment now that the heart monitor wasn't going berserk.

It was the medical bay onboard the Bus, and Coulson stood at his bedside, arms folded across his chest, frown creasing his forehead.

He was a prisoner. Again. And he wasn't sure this was a step up, given how he'd seen Simmons react to him last time. Though since he was clearly alive and she _hadn't_ attached a splinter bomb to him, or poisoned him or otherwise murdered him, he supposed it was a step in the right direction.

"Sorry," he apologized, and struggled to sit upright. Fiery pain lanced through his shoulder, and he collapsed backwards, breathing hard.

Coulson looked nonplussed. "You did some fairly serious damage to yourself, Agent Ward. You broke your scapula and tore your rotator cuff to shreds. You didn't react well to going in to surgery. Care to explain that?"

"Not particularly," Ward said. His face itched, but as soon as he moved his hand to scratch at it, it came up short, handcuffs clanking loudly against the bed's side bar and images of being strapped down in Room Three came unbidden to the front of his mind. Zola and his goggles and the flush of ice and fire through his veins and the world melting in front of him and -

 _No_. Not again. His mind slipped and blanked white and when it cleared, Coulson was inches in front of his face, looking thoroughly concerned and slightly terrified. He was holding Ward down with bruising force, though he carefully avoided touching his left shoulder and arm.

He could feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest, echoed by the near tachycardia rhythm on the monitor.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped. He felt light headed and the world seemed to spin like a gyroscope behind Coulson's head. His face felt damp and his useless brain failed to come up with a rationalization. "Am I crying?" he asked, without thinking.

Coulson's face went from concern to full blown worry. He didn't answer at first, his eyes scanning every inch of Ward's face, looking for the lie he undoubtedly suspected. Ward didn't blame him.

"Yeah," Coulson said quietly, disbelieving and almost to himself. "You are…" His brow furrowed even further and Ward's traitorous brain pointed out this was the most concern the Director had ever shown him.

"Why?" Ward felt panic bubble up and couldn't push it back down again. It felt like he was six years old again. His memory was terrifyingly blank and so vivid he felt himself flinch at a memory of his mother raising her hand to slap him across the face.

"Ward?" Coulson asked. He hadn't let up on his grip and Ward felt himself try and push himself further into the bed to get away from him.

"Let go," he gasped. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Pain be damned, he jackknifed upwards and twisted to the side over the bed railing just in time to throw up green bile all over Coulson's slacks and shoes. Agony seared through his shoulder and his head and completely forgetting about the handcuffs, he went to reach for his head again. Coulson's hand snaked out and grabbed his arm before the metal could pull taut again and Ward wondered how he'd forgotten that.

Coulson was talking, though he sounded like he was under water and Ward felt like he was drowning and suddenly he wasn't in the infirmary he was in the well and he was _drowning_. He coughed and sputtered, convinced that he could feel the oily black water that pervaded his nightmares slipping in his mouth and in his lungs and –

"WARD!" Coulson shouted, and this time shook him by his shoulders. White walls and plexi glass melted back into view and Ward couldn't remember what happened.

"How did I get here?" He meant to make it sound like a demand, but dammit if he didn't sound like he was a lost child in the woods.

Coulson looked just as lost as he was and it was far from comforting. Coulson was never lost.

Coulson kept his grip on Ward's arm and the fact that it was hard enough to bruise Ward found it oddly reassuring but didn't understand why. He didn't understand anything and the more he tried to think the less made sense.

"We found you and Fitz at HYDRA's science compound," Coulson said slowly, studying Ward's face for a reaction. "We had intel that was where Fitz had been taken but it took weeks to get it. We found you two together. Do you remember that?"

Ward tried and failed, shaking his head slowly. "I don't…Fitz?" He struggled to remember the face to the name and it came up vague and distorted, like trying to concentrate on a mirage.

"How hard did Mack hit you?" Coulson muttered. "What do you remember? What's the _last_ thing that you can remember?"

 _Last_ thing? Ward cast his memory back and the first concrete thing he came up with that he knew wasn't a dream was a little girl, locked in a cell and crying for her mother. "A girl," he said, trying to remember details. He frowned, trying to think, but the action sent a dull ache through his skull. "Suzy?"

Coulson sat back on a nearby stool, and finally released Ward's arm. "Suzy Storm. Skye's new friend, Gordon the teleporter, got her out. Apparently he can sense Inhumans, which is how he found her and told us about the base. But he refused to go back for either of you because he said he couldn't tell where you were. We knew you were there because she told us about the man and his friend who tried to rescue her, and ID'd the two of you from pictures."

Overwhelming relief made Ward's entire body sag back into the pillow. His head ached and the lights were starting to form halos if he looked too closely. "She's alive?"

Coulson didn't immediately answer. "What were you doing there?"

"Where?"

"At the compound," Coulson clarified. "What were you doing with Suzy?"

The pounding in his head was getting harder to ignore and he really just wanted the lights off, but he answered. "Her brother asked me to find her and bring her home. So I did." He paused. No. Wait. That wasn't right. "I _tried_ ," he amended. "How is she?"

"At the sanctuary, back with her family," Coulson answered. "What happened to you at the compound?"

There was a roar of blood in his ears and the lights exploded behind his eyes and there were needles and wires and unwanted hands and lightning in his head and –

The whiteness faded from his vision and he was curled face first into the mattress, panting like he'd run a marathon and the taste of copper on his tongue. He ran his tongue experimentally along his cheek and winced when he came across the bite missing from the inside. When did that happen?

" _Jesus_ Ward," Coulson breathed, and Ward felt gentle hands on his curved in shoulders. He shuddered, closing his eyes against the unwanted touch. "What the hell happened to you?"

He sniffed, and realized his cheeks felt damp. "Am I crying?"

Coulson looked sick. "Yeah…"

"Why?"

Coulson just shook his head, and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

That somehow made it worse. Coulson always knew.

He tried not to think about it. His head pounded and his shoulder felt like it was on fire but what suddenly occurred to him was he couldn't feel his right leg below his hip. Panic gripped him as he struggled to sit up again, ignoring the pain in his shoulder even as Coulson moved to help him.

"What the hell is that thing?" he demanded. His right leg, from knee down was encompassed in a circular metal contraption that looked like a medieval torture device. Thin metal spikes from every side held his lower leg suspended between the three metal circles that spanned from just blow he knee to a few inches above his ankle. A nasty, jagged and raw looking wound sliced through the skin on his shin, stitched neatly closed with fine black needlework split the skin like something had burst through it front underneath.

"You had a severe compound fracture of your tibia. Because the bones twisted and tore so much of the muscle underneath, they couldn't put a plaster cast on it in case there was an infection, which would've been higher if it had been enclosed," Coulson explained. He sounded grateful Ward finally asked a question he could answer.

"Why can't I feel it?" It looked like it should hurt like hell, but instead it just felt…numb and detached.

"Local anesthetic," Coulson said. "It was a serious injury and the medical staff wasn't a fan of introducing anything else to your system until they could identify what was already in it."

Ward stared at his leg. All he could see was a dozen needles fixed in his leg and he needed them out. His vision tunneled, and he could feel his heart start to pound. He needed them out, he needed them out, outoutout _out_. He lunged forwards . desperate to yank them out, feeling something tear in his shoulder and not caring. Hands grabbed him, pushing him back onto the bed where he was staring up at the bright lights again and suddenly it wasn't a bed it was a gurney, he could smell antiseptic and blood and the air tasted wrong.

There was shouting and more hands pushing him back onto the bed, forcing him to look up at the lights that blinded his vision and he wanted to slap them away but his hands were bound. Metal bit into his wrist as he yanked on the restraints and more hands were on his arms. They were shouting and they were trying to be soothing and it made it so much worse and he just wanted them _out_.

Something cold flushed through his veins and he choked back a sob, unheeding of the hot tears down his cheeks and he felt like screaming. He wanted _Thomas_ and -

When the lights faded, his thoughts felt muddled and foggy and his mouth tasted like copper and iron. His cheeks felt damp.

Coulson was standing over him, his tie crooked and his collar undone. There were others in the room that he could see and hear but somehow didn't register.

"Am I crying?" he asked, and the world dimmed.

Coulson didn't answer, but he nodded.

"Why?"

The hushed, horrified words "I don't know" followed him into the dark.


	15. Chapter 15

_'Cause they took your loved ones_   
_But returned them in exchange for you_   
_But would you have it any other way?_   
_Would you have it any other way?_   
_You could have it any other way_

_'Cause she's a cruel mistress_   
_And the bargain must be made_   
_But oh, my love, don't forget me_   
_When I let the water take me_

* * *

Coulson stared at the unconscious double agent on the bed, mouth open in shock.

He wasn't the only one.

"What the hell was _that?_ " Hunter demanded. "I mean really, what the bloody _hell_ was that?"

Hunter hadn't even been there for the whole show. Just the tail end when Ward went ballistic over the external fixator on his leg. He wasn't unfamiliar with the device, but he'd reacted as if it was meant for torture instead of healing.

Too much of his behavior made no sense. He seemed to lose time and place every time he had what the monitors were registering as severe panic attacks. He didn't scream or shout – it sounded more like he was trying _not_ to but couldn't help it. And every time he snapped out of it, he looked lost, as if he couldn't understand what just happened or even remember it.

The fact that he seemed to unknowingly cause himself pain wasn't the bothersome part. He had, after all, repeatedly tried to kill himself when they had him in custody in the Vault, and his tolerance was remarkably high, even for a specialist. It was the way that he seemed to black out and forget what just happened.

Ward could fake a lot of things. That's what happened when you had top marks in espionage, only topped by the one spy that managed to out-manipulate the _actual_ God of Lies. But not even Romanoff was _this_ good. He seemed just as confused every single time he realized that he was crying steadily after his first episode. The final one when he lunged for the fixator was by far the worst. Coulson could hear the stitches tearing and popping from his shoulder surgery as he fought to keep Ward down before he could similarly try and tear the fixator off. Even restrained, Ward put up enough of a fight that Hunter came running when he heard the alarms shriek in protest and Coulson yelling for a doctor. Before the sedatives took hold, he'd forgotten once more what happened.

And _Jesus_. That _noise_. Like someone in agony but afraid to scream. Coulson shuddered at the memory of it.

"I don't know," Coulson said for what felt like the hundredth time. "He's out for now, but I don't know how long that will last or what he'll remember when he wakes up."

"Maybe we should move him to some place with better security," Hunter suggested.

Coulson shook his head. "We're on a plane. There's only so many places he can go, even if he was capable of walking. Whether he feels it or not, if he tries to walk on that leg it's going to collapse on him and he _won't_ be able to use it again."

"I don't like it," Hunter grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Neither do I. How's Fitz doing?" Coulson asked.

Hunter scratched the back of his head. "About that…"

* * *

The short answer was: not good.

Coulson could hear the irate Scotsman shouting from the other end of the corridor, and as they got closer, there was a loud crash followed by even louder cursing in Gaelic.

Before Coulson could even open the door, it opened from the other side and a very, very angry engineer was glaring at him, red faced and determined.

"What's going on?" Coulson demanded, putting one hand out to stop Fitz from going anywhere. He peered around him and saw Jemma in the room, arms folded acoss her chest petulantly, looking anywhere but at Fitz. A tray was upended on the floor, meager contents splattered against the wall from where Fitz obviously threw it. "You're not even supposed to be up, Fitz."

"He's being unreasonable, sir," Simmons protested. "I tried to get him to lay back down but he didn't listen."

"Where's Ward?" Fitz asked, cutting off the last part of Simmons's complaint. "You didn't stick him back in the Vault, did you?"

Coulson shook his head. "No. He's in the medical bay. Are you going back to bed?"

Fitz glowered.

"Fine. Then sit down." Coulson indicated the couch in the common area. "You're still not supposed to be up, but this is better than standing."

Fitz looked ready to protest, but Coulson pointed to the couch. "Sit."

Fitz heaved a sigh, shuffled over to the couch and dropped down, wincing as it jarred the healing wound in his side. "I need to see him."

"Not until I get some answers," Coulson said, sitting opposite him. Jemma hovered at the doorway, arms still crossed defensively. He could see the agitation on Fitz's face, the way he kept glancing at the hallway back towards medical. "He's asleep for now. If you can answer my questions, I'll consider letting you visit when he wakes up."

Fitz frowned. "That sounds like I'm under house arrest."

Coulson shrugged. "In a way, yes. You were a prisoner in a HYDRA science and research compound known for human experimentation for over a month. We don't know what happened to you, and we don't know yet that you can be trusted. You could be a sleeper agent at this point, and neither you or anyone else would know. Until we can be sure HYDRA hasn't done anything to you, I'm going to have to ask you not to walk around on your own."

"They didn't do anything to me," Fitz protested.

Coulson took a good look at the young Scotsman for the first time since they'd recovered him from the compound. He'd never had a lot of extra weight on him, but now he looked gaunt. Pale skin stretched over hollowed cheekbones, his pale eyes sunken in and dark circles underneath. The loosely defined muscles of his upper arm were gone, and even his hands looked thin and stretched. According to Jemma and the initial assessment, Fitz had been starved of sleep and food long enough that they were going to have to strictly manage his diet for the foreseeable future to prevent refeeding syndrome. Even the new set of scrubs he was in hung loosely off of him, but the next size down was too small even for Skye and Jemma.

"Your behavior says otherwise," Coulson said mildly. He wasn't trying to push, he wasn't trying to insinuate that Fitz _was_ a threat to the team. He was more concerned about the threat he posed to himself.

Fitz sneered, his lip curling up in disgust. "I'm sorry. I didn't know there was a way I was _supposed_ to act. How would you _like_ me to behave?"

Coulson again shrugged. "However you would like. I just want you to understand that from our point of view, you are behaving very contradictory from the Fitz we last saw. I would like to exercise caution, for all our sakes. I think even you can appreciate that, given this agency's recent history," Coulson explained, making sure Fitz understood it wasn't personal. First May, then Ward, then Bobbi and Mack and then May again…betrayal and secrets and lies were becoming the norm for his agency, and he wasn't pleased with it. He supposed it should be expected though, since he employed spies.

Fitz sighed and seemed to deflate in front of him. With the rosy tinge of anger gone from his cheeks, Fitz looked even unhealthier. "Yeah. I can understand that. But they really _didn't_ do anything to me. Not like him."

"You mean Ward?" Coulson asked.

Fitz nodded, dropping his gaze to his hands as he idly picked at them. "How is he?"

Coulson decided to go with honesty. "Not good. He seems to have some memory issues and trouble processing recent events and-"

"Is he having panic attacks?" Fitz interrupted. "Like he doesn't know where he is or what just happened?"

Coulson frowned. "Yeah. That's pretty much exactly what happened."

Fitz leaned forward until it pulled painfully on the stitches in his side and he leaned back again.  
"Does he seem really emotional, especially for him? Like…" he snapped his fingers, trying to come up with the phrasing he wanted. "Not like he can't _understand_ it, but like he can't _process_ it?"

"You mean like he doesn't know why he's panicking?" Coulson asked.

"Like he can't ignore it," Fitz clarified. "Like that?"

Coulson nodded. "Do you know what's going on?"

Fitz ran a shaky hand through his longer than normal curls. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I was hoping it would've worn off by now but…" he shook his head. "How long _has_ it been?"

"Forty eight hours. We're en route back to base. We stopped at a hospital to treat both you and Ward to stabilize you before taking off. Does this have something to do with the weird chemicals we found in Ward's system?"

Fitz looked haunted. "Partly. Sir, do we have to do this now?"

Coulson sighed. "I would like to tell you no, but I can't. I need to know what we're dealing with and what I can expect, from either of you. I don't know how much you remember of your extraction since you seemed pretty out of it, but when we found you, Ward was about to shoot both of you and –"

Fitz exploded with such ferocity that Coulson found himself flinching back into the couch.

" _That wasn't what fucking happened_!" Fitz shouted, jumping to his feet. " _He_ was the one who got us out of there when it took _you_ a fucking _month_ to show up! He was injured helping _me_ when that psychotic doctor got a hold of him and damn near fried his brain and beat the hell out of him! He wasn't going to shoot us, _I was_!"

"Fitz…" Jemma breathed, looking horrified. "Why…"

"Because being _dead_ was better than going through that again!" Fitz shouted, turning on her. "Once was enough for me, and I damn sure wasn't letting Ward go through it a _third_ time!"

 _Third_?

"We were in _hell_ ," Fitz spat, face turning red from anger, accentuating the gaunt and hollowed look to his face. "They didn't do _anything_ to me because they did _everything_ to him and he _let_ them because of _me_. And I can't…" he heaved, like he was struggling for breath and Coulson realized that Fitz was _crying_. "I _can't_ let someone do that again."

Coulson had a reputation – several, actually. Director Lazarus, risen from the grave to take over SHIELD from Fury. Tough but fair. He'd even heard Mack reference him as Captain Sass. The one he minded the least, however, was when his team referred to him as their pseudo father.

Which is why he couldn't stand there and watch as one of his team broke down sobbing in the middle of the cabin. In two quick strides, he was across the room and wrapped his arms around Fitz as he shook, tears coursing down the side of his face as everything caught up to him. He didn't turn away and instead buried his face in Coulson's shoulder, holding on to him as if it was life or death.

For him, it might very well be. Fitz wasn't trained for combat. He was never supposed to be in the field, and Coulson was the one who sent him in to get the information in the first place. He was the second youngest on the team, and ever since last year, Coulson couldn't help but want to shelter the poor kid from the storm. Fitz proved more resilient than Coulson would've thought, and it was his heart that Coulson envied at times.

And now he could count the ribs even through Fitz's scrubs and his own suit. His shoulders stuck out prominently where Coulson held him. The frame wracking sobs indicated something much darker, much deeper than him simply watching Ward be tortured instead of him. Even if Fitz took Ward's betrayal the hardest, something terrible must have happened in the month they were missing.

There were too many questions. Ward's bizarre and erratic behavior, as well as the various scars and tissue damage in the process of healing (who knew when he was going to walk again) coincided with torture, and Fitz clearly knew more than he'd said so far about what happened.

Jemma stood back, mouth open in shock as her hands fluttered uselessly at her side, clearly unsure of what she should do. He knew Fitz and Simmons had a complicated relationship, but the poor biochemist seemed entirely at a loss as she watched her best friend break down in front of her. She settled for one hand over her mouth and Coulson didn't miss the way that her eyes looked awfully shiny as she looked away. He didn't think he could handle any more crying. It was definitely not covered in the handbook.

"I'm sorry. I pushed. I shouldn't have," Coulson soothed as Fitz's sobs began tapering off. "We can discuss what happened later and what they did to Ward-"

"It's my fault," Fitz whispered. There was something in his voice that didn't sound like he was just feeling misplaced responsibility. It was horrified realization, as if he'd just admitted something out loud that he'd known for a while.

"No, Fitz. What they did to him, that wasn't your fault," Jemma said, quick to try and assuage misplaced guilt.

Coulson felt Fitz's hand clench tighter, balling up material in his fist.

"They didn't ruin him," Fitz said, so quietly Coulson knew Jemma didn't hear it. " _I did_."


	16. Chapter 16

Fitz poked his head around the corner, scanning the hallway for movement. The lights were dimmed and the sky outside was dark. Nobody seemed like they were awake, or at the very least, not around the medical bay.

Poor security perhaps on their part, but right now Fitz was grateful no one worried enough to keep a guard at his room to make sure he stayed put.

He slid around the corner, mentally humming the Mission: Impossible theme to himself before he ran smack into Hunter.

The Brit had part of a bagel in his mouth and he looked just as surprised to see Fitz up and about as Fitz was to see him. "'Itz?" he mumbled around the bagel.

"Hi!" Fitz said with false cheer, smiling briefly even if he knew it looked painfully false. "Um, what are you doing up so late?"

Hunter swallowed down the bagel bit, coughing slightly. "Night shift, mate. And I was hungry. Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Fitz glowered. "I really wish people would stop saying that."

Hunter held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, you do what you want. I know I would be sick of being confined after being a prisoner."

The instant cave in made Fitz raise an eyebrow suspiciously. "You're supposed to be keeping an eye on me, aren't you?"

Hunter smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Boss's orders until you're cleared. I'm not _that_ bad a warden though, I swear. You want something to eat?"

Fitz felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the idea of food. "Um, no. No thank you. I think I'm supposed to be on a pretty strict diet anyway."

"Then where are you going?"

Fitz hesitated, gaze flickering to the glass door to where he knew Ward was being kept. He didn't really want to try and explain _again_ why he wanted to see the other man. Partly because it brought up some serious issues between the other team members, but also he seemed to be having issues of his own trying to explain without having a breakdown of his own. That alone was frustrating enough, and worse, it seemed to bring back some mild aphasia.

Hunter followed his stare and sighed. "I don't think he's awake."

Fitz didn't immediately answer, because that really didn't matter to him. He just wanted to make sure that he was _alive_ and actually getting medical attention. Coulson said he was, but Fitz couldn't shake the memories of the lab or the last time he'd seen Ward as he was slammed in the face with a rifle and dragged away from him.

Hunter didn't argue, but simply held his arm out in invitation. "Come on then."

It was a good thing he did run into the specialist, since Fitz no longer had the access code to the medical bay. They'd either pulled his clearance, or they'd changed the code, but Hunter easily opened the door.

It was fairly dark in the room, relying on the ambient light of the machines and the lighting from the hall and Fitz was grateful for that. After the bright lights of the room and the lab that were never turned off, the darkness was a welcome respite. He'd caught himself playing with the light switch in his room just to prove that if he wanted to, he could turn it off and on whenever he wanted.

It was the little things.

Ward looked awful, but that wasn't new. He hadn't looked healthy for weeks. A dark purple and black bruise spread across his temple from where he'd been knocked out, and his left arm was bound against his chest to prevent movement. Fitz recognized the thin pull of skin over bones as the same he saw in his own face, the familiar black smudges and unhealthy paleness making their features stand out prominently. At least he was asleep, though it didn't look very comfortable, partially twisted on his side as much as his injuries would allow. If the monitors were anything to go by, it was restful.

The worst was his leg. Fitz remembered looking down at it when he was dragging Ward through the compound, the glint of white bone and gore. It looked marginally better now, with the wound stitched shut, but the half dozen, six inch long screws that went through the skin to hold the bone in place looked like something out of a nightmare.

A very familiar nightmare, Fitz realized as he thought of the stilettos underneath nails and Ward forced to walk on them.

"He has to go back into surgery," Hunter said quietly. "He…had an episode when he saw the fixator and tore all of his stitches in his shoulder."

"Just the stitches?" Fitz asked, mimicking the low tone. "Or did he do damage to muscle?"

Hunter scratched the back of his head. "I think just the stitches, but I'm not the one to ask."

Fitz shook his head. "Don't put him under then. Just explain what's going on and give him a local."

"Wouldn't that be worse for him?" Hunter asked.

Fitz shook his head, sliding into the seat next to the bed. Someone at least had been sitting with him. "They made him sleep as punishment. Awful things happened when you slept."

He picked up Ward's hand, tracing his fingers over the bruised and scabbed over knuckles.

He realized belatedly the dangerous insinuation of the action just seconds before Ward's hand clenched violently and pulled out of his grasp. Fitz let him. Ward didn't even wake up.

Hunter edged closer, but kept his arms folded guardedly over his chest. "Why does he do that?"

"Do what?"

"React like that when you try to help him," Hunter said, indicating with his chin Ward's hand that he'd pulled tight against the restraints. "Usually it's the other way around."

"They, uh…" Fitz stumbled over his memories, trying to keep them from overwhelming him. He coughed, clearing his throat, blinking rapidly. "One of the doctors there, he was…uh, a little _fixated_ on Ward." He coughed again, feeling his throat constrict. "He used to…you can't touch his hands. Or his face. He doesn't like it."

Fitz could feel the weight of Hunter's stare on the back of his head, and he felt himself ducking his chin and hunching his shoulders, preparing for a blow. He knew Hunter wasn't going to hit him. He _knew_ it was irrational, but it didn't seem to matter. But Hunter didn't move, didn't uncross his arms, or, thankfully, offer a touch of consolation.

"Does this have something to do with why he seems to react badly when people try to be gentle? Like with cleaning wounds?"

Fitz nodded furiously, swiping angrily at his eyes. He hated this. Hated all of it. He didn't understand why the hell he couldn't keep his emotions in check, or why, when he hadn't cried for years he suddenly seemed to do it at the drop of a hat. He was safe. Ward was safe. They were back on the Bus and they were headed home so why did it seem worse now than when they were in the lab?

Hunter didn't answer, just nodded to himself as if he'd confirmed a suspicion.

Ward shifted restlessly on the bed, brow furrowing momentarily before he blinked his eyes open. Fitz could see the confusion there, the lack of awareness, and he thought maybe Ward wasn't really awake. His dark eyes focused in on him though, and Ward's face turned in a tired smile.

"Hey."

Wow. He sounded as bad as he looked, and that was saying something. Fitz couldn't help the short burst of laughter, and he immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. It wasn't funny, and he knew it, and suddenly he could feel his eyes start to burn and he choked on a sob. He took a quick, steadying breath through his nose, and moved his hand away from his mouth so Ward could see he was smiling. "Hey, yourself."

"You look awful."

Fitz snorted. "Pot," he said, pointing at Ward. "Kettle." He pointed to himself.

"That bad, huh?" Ward's eyes started to drift shut again, and Fitz thought maybe he was falling back asleep. "You should be in bed."

"Not you too," Fitz grumbled good naturedly.

Ward didn't open his eyes, but he smiled again. He winced slightly when it pulled on the bruises. "Can't help it. Big brother rules."

Fitz's smile faltered. "What?"

There must've been something in his voice that sounded off because Ward struggled to open his eyes again. "Thomas?"

"No, that's Fitz," Hunter corrected, making Fitz jump. He'd honestly forgotten The Brit was standing there.

"Don't correct him," Fitz bit out before he could stop himself. He bit his lip. This was stupid. He should be trying to remind Ward that he wasn't his younger brother now that they didn't have to worry about what would happen if he did. The memory of Zola's conditioning lingered still, and Fitz had to forcefully remind himself they were on the Bus, not the lab.

Ward's eyes slid over to Hunter, and the confusion etched deeper on his face. "Hunter?"

"Yeah, mate. Don't freak out, I'm just here with Fitz," Hunter said, holding his hands up, palms out to show he was unarmed.

Ward glanced back at Fitz, and Fitz could see the gears turning in his head, trying to think. He kept squinting, turning his head slowly back and forth like he was having a problem with depth perception. Something was going on in his head, and he at least recognized Hunter, even though they barely knew each other.

He reached up with his hand, but was pulled up short by the restraints, and his hand dropped back down, brow furrowing. He kept turning his head slowly back and forth.

"No?" Fitz said, trying to understand what Ward was trying to figure out.

"Ward…can you _see_ him?" Hunter suddenly asked.

For a moment, Ward froze. Then he blinked, tried to focus on Fitz's face, and slowly shook his head.

"But you can see me," Hunter clarified, and Ward nodded. "Undo the arm restraint," he instructed Fitz.

Fitz didn't have to be told twice, and as soon as the padded restraint was off, Ward reached up again, thin, pale fingers hovering over Fitz's face. Sensing his hesitation, Fitz leaned forwards in silent permission.

Haltingly, Ward's fingers traced over his face, studying every curve, every angle and feature. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and Ward's fingers were feather light against his skin. He shut his eyes, and when Ward's palm came to rest on the side of his face, he couldn't help but lean into it. It reminded him of home.

"Not Thomas," he heard Ward mutter.

"No," Hunter said quietly. "Not Thomas. _Fitz_."

"Fitz," Ward repeated, sounding doubtful. Ward's fingers slid upwards, and carded carefully through thick curls. " _Fitz_!"

Fitz suddenly found himself yanked forwards, Ward's arm snaked around the back on his head as he pulled him down and for a moment, he thought Ward remembered his part in his suffering. But Ward wasn't choking him, he was pulling him into a fierce brotherly hug.

" _Jesus_ , I thought you were dead!" Ward said, and Fitz could hear the disbelief in his voice.

Relief hit so hard it was like a physical blow, and Fitz suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"Hey, whoa, what's wrong?" Ward said, leaning back so he could see his face.

Fitz tried to smile, tried to reassure Ward that for once, there was nothing wrong. That things were actually fine. Things were better than fine because Ward finally recognized him and called him by name and instead of hating him he actually seemed _relieved_ and –

"Are you crying?" Ward asked.

Fitz touched a finger to his cheek and felt the dampness there. He wasn't even sure when that happened. "Yeah…"

"Why?"

How the hell could he explain it when he couldn't even understand it? He swiped angrily at is eyes, scrubbing fiercely.

"Nothing."

They might have actually been okay if they'd been left alone. But Fitz should've known better. The universe was a cruel place, and nothing could be that simple.

And Jemma was also an insomniac.

"What the hell are you doing up?" she demanded, and reached for the light switch.

"No, wait, don't-" Hunter shouted, but it was too late.

Bright, invasive white light that felt like he was staring at the sun blinded him, and his hands immediately went to his face to cover them but suddenly he wasn't in the medical ward he was in the lab and he could smell blood and sickness and felt the despair crushing down because they were going to die here in the blinding white light and no one could save them because they were _monsters_ …

" _Fitz!_ "

Someone touched his shoulder and he twisted violently away and knew he was going to be punished and he hunched up against the blow that was surely coming except wait. They never came for him but he _couldn't_ let them take him and he lashed out.

He was so surprised when his fist actually struck something his eyes flew open in shock, even as someone grabbed his arm to keep him from swinging again.

He wasn't in the white room made of light. It was actually so dark he had to blink several times to get his eyes to adjust.

As the medical ward slowly came back into view, Fitz felt his heart stutter. It was chaos – chaos that he couldn't understand.

Hunter was trying to hold Ward down without causing further harm from what looked like a grand mal seizure. Coulson was inches away from his face and it was his hand that was on his arm. Skye was at the door, hand on the light switch and looking torn between anger and shock, but he didn't know why.

Coulson was trying to ask him something but sounds were muffled and he couldn't understand him.

Wasn't Jemma just standing there?

His gaze drifted down and he frowned. Jemma was on the ground, staring at him in horror, her hand on her cheek over a rapidly reddening bruise and…why was she afraid of him? He reached out a hand to her, and she flinched. He hesitated, and noticed the reddening on his knuckles, the dull ache that spread through his hand.

Realization hit him like a ton of bricks and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and suddenly he was laughing and he was crying and he couldn't understand what the hell was wrong with him.

"Fitz, breathe. Come on, just calm down…" Coulson's voice drifted in and out of clarity and that just made Fitz want to laugh even more. His side was killing him and for some reason the idea of having stitches in the stitch on his side was hilarious and depressing at the same time, and he tried to stop laughing by putting his hands over his mouth but it didn't help.

"Do something!" Skye protested, and her voice sounded panicky.

"I'm trying!" Coulson snapped angrily.

"Everyone breaks!" Fitz blurted out. He was so relieved he actually managed to say something intelligible, he smiled. He was still crying. He felt laughter starting to bubble up again.

Coulson stared. Skye stared. He couldn't look at Jemma and he wouldn't look at Ward or Hunter.

"Everyone breaks," he repeated. "Everyone breaks, everyone breaks, everyone breaks, everyone _breaks_!" He punctuated the last word with an angry punch to the monitor next to Ward's bed and felt it shatter, felt the glass slice his knuckles to the bone.

He held his hand up in front of his face for Coulson to see, so he could understand. So all of them could understand. Blood flooded over his knuckles and down his wrist as he shoved it in Coulson's face. "Everyone breaks," he whispered, meeting Coulson's eyes through the blood. " _See?_ "


	17. Chapter 17

It was like trying to have a board meeting with kindergartners.

"What was Ward even doing out of his restraints?" Simmons demanded. She held an ice pack to her eye, which was developing quite the shiner. "Are we not considering him the enemy anymore? Or did we forget what he did?"

Rather than have the meeting in the hospital room, Coulson adjourned them to the conference area usually meant for mission debriefings, but now he was wondering at the wisdom of even including everyone as they bickered back and forth.

Hunter stared at Simmons, trying to figure out whether or not she was being serious. "Oh yes. I'm sure that with enough tranquilizers to down a horse, he's going to get up and single handedly take on the entire crew of the Bus, which includes in _just this room_ : an inhuman, and three other specialists. On one leg. With one arm."

"Why _did_ you undo his restraints?" Bobbie asked. Out of the women in the room, she was the only one without personal ties to Ward. She was still suspicious, especially considering her time undercover in HYDRA, but she seemed less…fanatical. So far it was just her usual level of distrust towards anyone.

Hunter tapped his finger absently against the table, biting his lip as he debated whether or not he wanted to answer. "Because the memory blanking panic attacks they were inducing weren't enough of a reason?"

"You don't know him like we do!" Skye protested.

"That might be a good thing at this point," Hunter grumbled, just loud enough for Coulson to hear him.

"Enough!" Coulson finally shouted, and the room went silent. Everyone still looked like they wanted to object, but were reluctantly quiet as they turned to him. "Are you done arguing?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Nobody moved, and he took it as a silent affirmative, and he continued.

"I know you aren't happy with Ward's presence onboard, Jemma. I understand. But the circumstances have changed, and I have to ask that you at least acknowledge that the Ward we have right now is not the same one we used to know. We still have no idea what happened, between him and Fitz, or at the lab itself other than what their injuries suggest," Coulson explained.

"He could be faking," Skye suggested.

Hunter gaped openly at the younger agent. "How exactly do you fake a compound fracture and a broken shoulder?"

Skye shrugged, looking unapologetic. "Okay, fine. Maybe not his injuries, but his weird behavior. Even when he was playing us, he didn't act like that."

"You mean like a torture victim?" Hunter snapped, and Coulson put his hand up to stave off further argument.

"Enough. Skye, you haven't had enough training to be familiar with the psychological profiling SHIELD agents require. As far as bizarre behavior, it's not unusual for victims in their circumstances. You didn't see him when he woke up the first time. I advise you watch the security footage, because if Ward is acting, he deserves on Oscar. It's textbook signs of PTSD for both of them, and neither one has been coherent enough to tell us what happened in the facility."

"But look at what he did to Fitz! It's just like Bakshi!" Skye protested.

Coulson could see she was getting frustrated with what she saw as their willingness to be duped by Ward a second time, but her emotional attachment to Ward was causing issues. They needed to be objective until they found out what really happened, and she was making it difficult.

More importantly, if she couldn't keep her personal feelings in check, she was going to cause problems with not just Ward, but with Fitz, too. The young engineer was sleeping peacefully now, thanks to some intervention and a lot of pain killers for his hand, but he was still highly reactive. Not to mention over protective of Ward, which he still didn't understand.

"Skye, I'm only going to say this once. If you cannot leave your personal feelings out of the equation, then you cannot be here. Simple as that. And that goes for everyone," he said, glancing pointedly at each person. Jemma and Skye were the only ones to look uncomfortable, and May was notably absent still at the wheel, but he saw them nod. "So far, all we know for sure is that the two of them were prisoners together. However, Fitz made a comment that indicated that Ward was the one who took the brunt of it from the HYDRA scientists. Medical evidence supports it, so there's no reason to doubt it."

"They did something other than physical torture," Hunter said quietly, face grim. "They messed with his head. Both of them. But Ward's seems to be more…" he trailed off, trying to think of the word.

"Crazy?" Skye suggested.

"Pervasive," Hunter said. "Fitz…he's almost textbook survivor's guilt. It happens when more than one person are prisoners together. It dates back as far as there's been war – you can't maim both your prisoners, so you pick one to abuse physically. The other one breaks down mentally. It doesn't matter if you know the other prisoner or not, unless you're a complete psychopath, most people can't sit back and watch someone else suffer."

"Well, Ward is pretty damn close to a psycho," Skye grumbled. She folded her arms across her chest, glowering across the table at the Brit.

"But Fitz isn't," Bobbie pointed out. "Didn't he say something about being responsible for Ward's condition?"

Jemma was starting to look faintly green as realization started to take hold. "Fitz was the one who was made to watch…"

"Probably," Bobbie confirmed. "That's what I would do."

"It's more than just that though," Hunter interjected. "He's got strange symptoms for just physical torture. Like prosopagnosia."

"What what?" Skye asked. "Proso…what?"

"Prosopagnosia," Bobbie repeated. "It's face blindness. Usually it's a rare cognitive disorder that prevents someone from recognizing someone by their facial features, but you can also get it after serious brain trauma. They have to use other tells, or features, like their hair color, skin color, et cetera."

"Which is why I told Fitz to undo Ward's arm restraint – so Ward could figure out who Fitz was. Ward couldn't recognize him. Well, he recognized him, but he called him something else," Hunter explained. "He called him Thomas. And Fitz seemed to know what that meant, but I haven't got a clue."

"Thomas?" Coulson echoed. He felt a tension headache blossoming behind his eyes and he rubbed his forehead to try and force it away. "That's not good."

"Why? Who's Thomas?" Jemma asked.

"It's Ward's youngest brother."

"You mean there're _more_ of them?" Skye said. "Or did Ward kill them too?"

"Thomas Ward and his sister, Angela, are perfectly fine. In fact, it was because of Thomas that Ward wound up in juvenile detention in the first place, which is where Garrett found him. Don't mention either of them to Ward," Coulson explained. "He's a bit sensitive on the subject, and he's having enough issues already that we don't understand."

"Like panic attacks?" Bobbie asked.

"That's one. The fact that he can't visually recognize Fitz is another. Memory loss. Uncontrollable emotions. Highly reactive to bright lights," Hunter said.

"I still don't understand why the lights seem to be such a big issue," Simmons said. "I would understand if it was something like fireworks, perhaps, but why would just turning on the light switch bother them?"

"Yeah," Skye chimed in. "What's so scary about a light?"

Hunter felt the urge to slap his own face with his palm. "Have you _ever_ been around someone with PTSD? Either of you?"

Skye looked slightly shamed, but not understanding. "I don't know. I don't think so? It's not something brought up in conversation."

"We fished them out of a lab. A HYDRA lab. Specifically designed for the purpose of human experimentation. It's not going to be loud noises and explosions or possible roadside IED's that sets them off, it's going to be things related to a _laboratory_ ," Hunter explained. "You're trying to apply combat scenarios that just aren't related. There's more than one kind of PTSD. You don't even _have_ to be the one who suffered the event, it can be the equivalent of survivor's guilt."

"So…what's with the bright lights?" Skye asked.

"What's typically over your lab experiments?" Coulson asked.

"A light," Simmons said, without thinking. Her face paled. "Oh…"

"Yeah. _Oh_. Look, I know you guys have history with Ward. I know he turned out to be a double agent. But you guys trust Fitz, right?" Hunter asked. "Wasn't he the one who took it the hardest? I mean with his…" he made a sign language gesture for 'scrambled eggs'. "If _he_ says Ward's earned a second chance, don't you think maybe you might want to listen?"

"Assuming Fitz hasn't had his brain fried, too," Skye said. "They were both prisoners. Just like Agent 33. Who's to say that they aren't sleeper agents? Can we really trust anything that either one of them says?"

"Remind me not to stand up for you next time Jemma wants to catalogue you and your friends as lab specimens."

The rough Scottish lilt was unmistakable, and Coulson turned to see Fitz standing just at the threshold. His hand was freshly bandaged in bright white gauze and he held it up close to his chest, which meant he'd probably woken up when the pain meds wore off.

No one said anything, and you could've heard a pin drop. Skye flushed bright red and Jemma ducked her head, using the ice pack to cover her face.

"What? No witty comebacks?" Fitz asked mildly. He wavered in the doorway and leaned against it. "Or you just don't want to say anything with the brain dead spy in the room?"

"Now Fitz," Bobbie started, but the glare the young engineer levelled at her was enough to silence any protest she had.

"What are you even doing up?" Coulson asked, frowning. "I thought I told you to get some rest."

Fitz shrugged. "I can't sleep anymore." He didn't clarify if it was because he wasn't tired, or because something prevented it. The dark shadows under haunted eyes were evidence enough.

"They're just trying to understand," Hunter said. "We all are. We can't help if we don't know what's going on."

Fitz didn't immediately reply, but nodded slowly. "Fair enough, I suppose. What would you like to know?"

The calm, passive tone in his voice was unnerving, like he didn't have a care in the world.

When no one spoke, his eyes narrowed. "What. Would you like. To _know_?" he repeated, this time anger darkening the words.

Again, the others remained silent. Even Coulson wasn't entirely sure how to respond. So far Fitz had responded with anger, tears, and violence to both himself and towards others. If he lost himself again, Coulson didn't know if they could pull him back. It was a dangerous and slippery slope they found themselves on.

Hunter was the one who finally broke the silence. "What changed your mind about him?" He nodded his head in the direction of the medical bay where Ward was still unconscious.

Fitz tilted his head to one side, unknowingly echoing Ward's earlier behavior, like he was trying to gauge a depth of field. He picked his way across the room, carefully avoiding Jemma and Skye's sideways stares and slid into one of the vacant chairs.

"They did," Fitz answered simply.

"Who?"

"Zola and Magnus. Our… _keepers_."

"What could they possibly do to change your mind?" Bobbie asked, and Fitz again glared back.

Fitz tilted his head back, keeping his eyes closed against the overhead lights. "It's hard to explain."

"Try," Skye said.

Fitz's eyes snapped open, and locked on hers. It was so much like Ward, Skye felt herself actually recoiling.

"How about I show you?" Fitz said, his voice back to the unnerving calmness.

"How could you – " Skye started to ask, but suddenly Fitz's hand was in her face, thumb up and index finger out as if he was shaping a gun.

"I'm going to kill you," Fitz said, voice flat. "I'm going to kill you, and there's nothing you can do about it." His head swung toward Jemma. "But you can do something about it," he said, and his voice pitched abruptly. It wasn't flat and dead, it was warm, soothing…the old Fitz that tried to keep the peace and still believed in happy endings. It was imploring. Full of promise. "Jemma, you can stop this. I don't have to kill her. She's your friend. You don't want anything to happen to her, right?"

Jemma's ice pack was on the table, condensation pooling around it. She looked more than a little frightened by the abrupt change in her best friend.

"Ask me how to stop it," Fitz said. His 'gun' remained unwaveringly pointed at Skye's head. "Ask me how you can save her."

Jemma's mouth worked open and closed silently before she managed a choked "how?"

"I won't hurt her. If _you_ hurt her instead," Fitz said, his voice still pitched in that mesmerizing, kind tone. "She's going to be hurt no matter what. But it'll be _less_ if _you_ do it. Isn't that better?"

Coulson shuddered at the voice more than the words. It just sounded so… _wrong_ coming from Fitz. Fitz, who couldn't hurt an inanimate object, never mind another human being.

"What?" Jemma squeaked.

"Come on, Jemma. She's one of your closest friends," Fitz wheedled. "Is it really so bad? If you don't hurt her, I will kill her. And isn't being hurt better than being killed?"

Hunter's hand was over his mouth, and his eyes met Coulson's. Now Fitz's comment made sense. Cold, horrifying sense.

 _They didn't ruin him. I did_.

"Hurt her, or I kill her. Hurt her bad enough and I won't have to," Fitz said, and his hand began to shake. "Come on, Jemma, this isn't that fucking hard. She's your best goddamned friend, and you're just going to let me kill her?"

"Fitz, I…" Skye trailed off, and Coulson could tell she knew too. Understanding was beginning to dawn.

" _Hurt her or I will kill her,_ " Fitz growled savagely. " _Help me hurt her and I won't hurt_ you."

"Okay, Fitz, you made your point," Bobbie said, trying to keep her voice light but still authoritative. "Stop it."

"Why?" Fitz asked. "She still hasn't chosen. Come on, Jemma. You can choose. Do you watch her die? Or do you help break her?" The soothing, gentle lilt was gone, and he was rapidly edging towards that panicky giggly mode he seemed to default towards.

"We get it, Fitz," Coulson said quietly, putting a cautious hand on Fitz's bandaged arm.

"I don't think you do," Fitz snapped. "Because you still haven't chosen. _I_ couldn't choose. But _he_ did."

"Zola?" Bobbie asked.

Fitz laughed. "No. _Ward_."

Oh.

Fitz dropped his hand. "I didn't choose. I _couldn't_. But Ward chose. He _let_ them hurt him. He let _me_ hurt him. And he didn't fight it."

"But… _why_?" Jemma asked quietly, struggling to understand. To try and piece together what she knew of Grant Ward and what Fitz was trying to tell her.

"Because they wanted me to choose," he said. "And I couldn't. So he chose for me. One of us was going to be hurt. They wanted us to choose which one. So he chose himself."

Fitz angrily swiped at his eyes with his bandaged hand and pushed up from the table. "I didn't forgive Ward. He has blood on his hands. But now…now I do, too." Fitz abruptly turned and made to leave, but paused at the threshold. "And it's his."


	18. Chapter 18

_Lights flickered. The ground shook. People without faces dressed as soldiers ran past them, shouting something in a language he didn't understand. He needed to escape. He needed to get out. They were going to die if he couldn't find an exit._

_Every time he tried to read the signs, the letters were jumbled and made no sense, and the longer he looked, the harder it was to read. Even the pictograms of stairs would start to undulate like he was looking at waves out on the ocean. Every step seemed to get harder and harder until it felt like he was trying to wade through cement. Every door he opened lead to a brick wall._

_He was bleeding. And then he wasn't. There was blood on his hands, but it wasn't his own._

_He carried someone with him. Well, dragged. They were making it impossible to escape, but he couldn't put them down. He couldn't even bring himself to try._

_Someone was chasing them. Some thing was catching up. It wanted him. It wanted them both. It wanted them alive._

_He would rather be dead._

_He had a gun._

_He could end it. They could win. They couldn't be a prize if they were dead._

_He tried to apologize. He didn't want this to be their exit but it was their only choice. The ground was fracturing underneath them and the heat was rising. The lights flashed like strobe lights, and everything moved in jerky stop-motion movements._

_Except for the monster chasing them._

_He could hear his heart beating wildly against his ribs and his side was bleeding and his hands were covered in blood and there was no one to save them and they were going to die alone in the dark with monsters and the Earth opening up to swallow them whole and –_

_Something latched around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. He slammed face first into the ground, his brother falling beside him._

_It was his blood he had on his hands and it was never coming off._

_Zola yanked on his foot, dragging him into the cracks in the Earth. His googles were broken, fractured glass in his eyes as rivulets of blood poured from the ugly wounds even as he smiled. His teeth were saw-toothed and jagged, shark's teeth in a human mouth._

_"_ _You're a monster too, Leo. You belong with the rest of us!" Zola snarled, more blood dripping from his mouth._

_He tried to kick out with his other foot but it was caught on something._

_Zola wrenched him back again, and this time he slid halfway into the chasm with the crazed scientist. "Into Hell with the rest of us monster makers!"_

_One of his feet came free and he kicked out against the doctor, aiming for his face. Instead of hitting him in the temple like he meant to, it passed right through Zola's face as if he were a ghost and slammed into something solid and unforgiving with a metallic clang._

"OW!" Fitz yelped, and reached for his foot which now hurt like hell. He blinked his eyes open, fully expecting to see his nightmare come to life, but found himself staring up at the ceiling of his room at headquarters.

He was on the floor, his feet tangled in his sheets. Sweat made his clothes stick to his skin and stung his eyes and he could feel his heart starting to come down from its marathon tempo. Pain radiated up his leg from his foot where he kicked the side the metal frame on the bed.

This was getting old.

He hadn't managed to sleep more than a few hours at a time since they returned. He was exhausted, but every time he fell asleep, nightmares plagued him and he almost always woke up falling out of bed or hitting something in his sleep. Nobody came to wake him up anymore, despite his numerous apologies for punching Mack in the face and almost taking out Hunter's knee.

Jemma hadn't been alone with him since the incident in the medical ward on the Bus. He wasn't all that surprised, and that's what probably hurt the most. After she'd abandoned him under the pretense of helping him after his TBI, she hadn't been the same person. She didn't handle different well, and he was different enough for her when he couldn't put words together properly. Now that he was having trouble telling reality from dreams, waking from sleeping and couldn't seem to figure out how to process any of what happened to him, he was in a whole different category for 'different'.

He couldn't keep his temper. Everything made him angry. Not being able to sleep. Not being able to work on machines. Not having the right cereal in the kitchen. People not walking fast enough or walking too close to him. He was jittery and anxious and that just made him angrier. He blew up at Skye when she asked him what he wanted for lunch, and then he was angry for being angry at her over nothing. His hands shook badly enough that he couldn't work in the lab, which was probably for the best. He kept having flashbacks to the lab with Magnus, and sometimes he caught himself flinching away from Mack because when he caught the mechanic out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Magnus.

They wanted him to see a therapist, but he couldn't talk to anyone. They didn't understand, and they couldn't understand. He tried to explain the lab, and the room made of lights but every time he tried, his mouth would go dry, his tongue went numb and the aphasia came back with a vengeance. Which, of course, made everything worse. It was a downward spiral that he could see plain as day but found it impossible to stop or even slow his descent. He no longer liked being up during the day because there were too many people. He always felt like he was being watched, and knowing SHIELD, he wasn't wrong.

Mack and Hunter were so far the only ones who were moderately understanding. Mack didn't care that he couldn't speak, or would suddenly hyperventilate when attempting to work on something because of the flashbacks. Hunter understood when he lost his temper over nothing and refused to accept his apologies.

The former mercenary was actually the most understanding out of all of them, and it was a relief when it was his turn for guard duty. He seemed to know what would set Fitz off and how to counter it, knew what people to avoid when trailing after him on his nightly walkabouts through the building. Strangely enough, the most comforting thing the other man did was make tea. Strong Scottish black tea, which he was eternally grateful for because no one in America understood the beauty of tea. Fitz always wanted to ask _why_ it was that Hunter understood when no one else did, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. He figured he owed the man the same decency he'd showed him and didn't pry.

He didn't like the way that Gonzalez and Agent Weaver looked at him. Like he was an unpredictable loose cannon, just waiting to go off. He sometimes caught Skye looking at him the same way, and that probably hurt more than Jemma's betrayal, because he at least expected Jemma to react poorly. But Skye should _know_ what it's like to come back different and have everyone think you're dangerous when you're not. He wondered if it would be any different if he didn't actively defend Ward. He would rather be thought of as the enemy sleeper agent then turn on Ward now.

Fitz scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep away. He wasn't about to try to sleep again. Not after that nightmare. It was quiet out anyway, which meant it was probably the dead of night and no one else would be up.

He found different clothes, stripping out of his soaked pajamas and carefully avoiding pulling on the still healing wound in his side. The stitches were due out sometime next week and were starting to itch obnoxiously.

He poked his head out of his room, scanning one direction then the next, straining to hear anything.

The building was quiet. The only ones up at this hour were possibly Mack and Hunter, and even less likely, May or Bobbie. The two specialists were less intrusive than the others, but Fitz found himself irrationally angry at the two of them more often than not and he wasn't entirely positive why. May could say something as simple as he should get some rest and Fitz had to fight the impulse to hurl the nearest object at her.

His anger was beginning to scare him. He didn't even know what set it off anymore because it seemed like everything would.

He slunk out of his room and towards the medical wing.

* * *

He slid quietly into his normal chair at Ward's bedside, idly picking at the strings on his sweater. He needed something to occupy his hands, or he was going to start fiddling with something else, and he doubted Ward would appreciate it.

Ward was asleep, which he was most of the time nowadays, and he didn't look much better under the supposed care of SHIELD than he did under HYDRA. He'd always been the picture of health as an agent, either for SHIELD, HYRDRA or freelance, and the long weeks of inactivity wore heavily on him.

While he'd always been fair skinned, he now looked translucent. His black hair and dark features made it worse, and what had become a lingering illness kept him from gaining any weight. There was talk of a nasogastric tube in the future if he didn't start eating. The damage he'd helped Zola and Magnus inflict was still there – Ward's ability to block out or override emotions was still haywire, which meant every reaction was everything all at once. Instead of nervous, he was panicked. Instead of scared, he was terrified. It also meant that that kind of emotional response _every_ time was physically exhausting and wearing down on him just as surely as Fitz's inability to sleep.

Whereas Fitz had turned into a walking neurotic disorder of constant energy and motion, Ward was exhausted by the simplest things, and what was worse, the medical treatments that were supposed to help him get better were a never ending source of panic inducing anxiety: doctors in lab coats, blood cultures and samples, IV's of medicine and worst of all, the constant adjustments to the fixator.

They'd initially tried to keep them apart. Something about codependency and whether or not Ward could be trusted around Fitz or vice versa.

That only lasted until the first time they tried to adjust the fixator. They couldn't keep him constantly sedated without depressing his immune system and building up a tolerance, both of which were dangerous options at this point. The pins needed to be adjusted frequently to promote new bone growth, and when they tried it the first time, Ward almost broke his newly restrained arm trying to get away from them, doing much more harm than good as they fought to hold him still while someone else turned and adjusted the pins.

Fitz had come running but the staff stopped him at the door, physically restraining him while he watched Ward scream in pain as he flashed back to Zola's torture room, begging for them to stop because he promised not to fight and he promised he wouldn't resist.

Fitz bit the guard holding him back. Hard enough he drew blood, but he was fairly positive it was surprise that made him release his grip. He used strength he didn't even know he had to pull the doctors away from Ward, despite their protesting.

He didn't care that Coulson and Mack saw him as he started up his normal litany of nothings that soothed away the nightmares in the recovery room. He tried not to focus on the bruising grip Ward kept on arm as he fought his way back to reality. He kept his hands away from his face and returned the vice like grip because he refused to remind Ward of Zola. Kindness was still the enemy. It might always be the enemy. Fitz knew he wasn't going to forget any time soon, and he doubted Ward would brush it off any faster.

From then on, Fitz was in the room as they adjusted the fixator. Nobody argued.

Ward hadn't forgotten Fitz again. He wasn't entirely sure he was relieved at first – he was starting to rely on the idea that Ward considered him his wayward younger brother as the only anchor to another person he had. He'd worried that if Ward no longer thought of him as Thomas, then they would be back to being enemies.

Instead, it was more of a role reversal. Ward didn't have the residual instinct to protect his younger brother, and instead started leaning on Fitz's presence like it was a security blanket. Bits and pieces of memory were starting to filter in, but details remained fuzzy.

Fitz selfishly hoped he never regained all of them.

"You're hovering again," Ward muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.

It was rather unnerving how Ward could tell who was in the room without opening his eyes, but it also meant Fitz never had to announce his presence.

"Can't sleep again?" Ward asked.

Fitz could hear the bone deep exhaustion in every word, knew the older man was barely awake and unlikely to remain that way for long. He shrugged and knew Ward could tell.

"Wish I had that problem," he grumbled, and shifted over. His bed at headquarters was larger than the one on the Bus, mostly because Ward was having the same problems of rolling off of it when caught in a nightmare.

Fitz snorted.

"Greener grass. Fences. All that bullshit," Ward said, just a hint of a smile on his drawn features. "If you misbehave enough, they'll just keep you on a cocktail of horse tranquilizers." He waved disjointedly at the IV above his head.

Fitz huffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Mmm, starting to get waking hallucinations? Those are fun. They'll go away. You just need to realize you're safe, and the nightmare part is over. It's your mind trying to protect itself by not letting itself be fooled into false hope."

This was why he liked talking to Ward. The former agent always seemed to know what Fitz was going through with minimal conversation.

Ward shuddered, going to rub his still bandaged arm. "The problem with IV's is that they're always cold. I feel like I'm freezing from the inside out."

Fitz grabbed the folded blanket from the edge of the bed and draped it over him, keeping it off the fixator. It wasn't supposed to make a difference if there was a weight as minimal as a sheet or blanket, but Fitz knew it was just enough that Ward could register the movement of the pins. He accidentally brushed Ward's hand and before he could pull it back Ward snatched his wrist.

"Holy crap, you're warm. C'mere."

Fitz allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed, carefully avoiding the fifty million wires and tubes and broken bones. Ward's arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer when Fitz didn't do it on his own.

"Don't worry. What happens in medbay stays in medbay," Ward said, yawning.

"You're such a dick," Fitz said, half-heartedly.

"Don't even pretend like you're surprised. Go to sleep, monkey," Ward said. "Just don't kick me while you're dreaming."

Fitz knew they looked ridiculous. Two grown men sharing a hospital bed because one of them couldn't sleep and the other one couldn't wake up.

It was also the first time he didn't have nightmares.

Haters gonna hate.


	19. Chapter 19

He knew there was someone else in the room. It was a talent he'd developed over the years and it was now a second nature. Different people walked different ways, had different patterns of movement, breathed different, smelled different. In the year he worked with the team, he got to know each of them well enough he didn't have to open his eyes to tell who was in the room with him.

Jemma smelled like tea and lab solvent. Coulson had carefully measured everything, from his breathing to the steps he took. May was almost silent. Skye was unsure and absent minded in her movements. Fitz was measured chaos and occasionally smelled like burnt wiring.

The new members of team Good Guys were beginning to fall into their own set patterns, but he didn't care enough about any of them to really pay attention. Besides, they posed little threat and even less interest in showing up in his room unless they were following Fitz.

"He's fine," he muttered, careful not to wake Fitz.

The poor kid hadn't slept very well in weeks. Maybe it was months. He knew he didn't sleep at the compound. Knew from the way the shadows under his eyes had only deepened, his cheeks hollowing out and the nervous and erratic movements in everything he did that he hadn't done any better back at SHIELD.

"I wasn't going to argue," Hunter said. "Frankly, I think you're adorable. Should I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

"I'm not the marrying type. Besides, hard to get down on one knee when I'm confined to a bed. If I'm proposing, I'd like to do it properly."

"So instead you're settling for snuggle buddies?" Hunter joked. "You two make a better couple than Bob and I, and we _were_ married. Sure I shouldn't be picking out a Best Man tux?"

Ward smirked, and felt it pull on his chapped lips. "What can I say? I make an awesome security blanket."

"Sure it's not the other way around?" Hunter asked. His tone was light, but Ward could hear the sincerity in the question.

"It's freezing cold in here. He's not a security blanket, he's a nuclear generator of heat," Ward said. He cracked his eyes open, wincing at the light. It wasn't bright. It was actually fairly dim. But migraines plagued him on an almost constant basis. A side effect of almost daily ECT, he supposed.

He really wants to close his eyes again and go back to sleep. He always feels exhausted now, and that by itself is even more exhausting. Not many people realized that being constantly tired no matter how much rest you got was almost as bad as insomnia. He wants to sleep, but he doesn't trust Gonzalez or Coulson while he's out. Every time he wakes up, something is different. They moved bases. They added a central line catheter to his neck for 'antibiotics', but he'd torn it out as soon as he realized it was there. He had new stitches. A nasal cannula. He even heard them talking about inserting a PEG feeding tube if he didn't start actually gaining weight instead of losing it.

Hunter chuckled lightly at the response.

Ward liked this one. He knew little about Hunter other than he used to be married to Mockingbird. When he worked for Garrett, it seemed of little use to know about the ex-wife of a mercenary only loosely associated with SHIELD. Mostly he seemed indifferent to the game of alliances between Coulson SHIELD and supposed 'real' SHIELD, but what ultimately won Ward over was Fitz liked him.

Fitz didn't like a whole hell of a lot of people these days.

"How's he doing anyway? He looks like he's trying to burrow underneath you," Hunter asked. He took a sip from his coffee mug, settling back in his chair.

It had become a ritual of sorts. Hunter almost always had night shift to keep an eye on Fitz, and more often than not, Fitz wound up in Ward's hospital room. Usually he wound up dozing in the semi comfortable chair on the far end of the room, leaving Ward and Hunter to talk on their own. Well, as long as Ward managed to stay awake, which wasn't very.

"Not the best," Ward answered honestly. "How's he act out there?"

Hunter grimaced. "About the same. He's angry. Very, very angry, and I don't think he knows why. Which, of course, makes him angrier." He took another sip of his coffee.

Ward sniffed the air, staring wistfully at the mug, and Hunter smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, mate. You're having issues with water and broth, I don't think black coffee is going to do you any favors."

Ward huffed. "Then why do you bring it in here? That's just cruel and unusual punishment."

"Just because you have to suffer doesn't mean the rest of us do," Hunter said, smugly taking another sip. "Start eating and I'll bring you a cup of your own. A very tiny one."

Ward let his eyes drift shut again. "You act like I don't eat."

"Yeah…about that," Hunter said, sobering slightly. "You know they're talking about force feeding you, right?"

Ward hated the traitorous uptick in the heart monitor. "I don't suppose I get a say in that, do I?"

Hunter shrugged. "Gonzalez has you listed as a prisoner, not a patient."

Of course he does. Not that it would make any difference if it was him or Coulson. Last time Ward was a prisoner of SHIELD, he opted for the 'early out' route. Instead of letting him go, he found himself confined to a hospital bed, sedated until his injuries healed and they decided he was no longer a danger to himself.

"I _do_ eat," Ward protested, though he knew it sounded feeble. "It just doesn't make a difference."

"Yeah," Hunter said quietly. "I know. They figure out what was wrong with you?"

Ward snorted. "Everything."

Hunter was quiet for a moment, and Ward thought maybe he'd given up the twenty questions.

"Can I ask you something?" Hunter asked.

Ward could hear the change in his voice. This wasn't a light question, or something he even wanted to bring up. It was laced with concern, and possibly even dread.

He sighed, turning back to the ex-mercenary. "Fine."

"Do you _want_ to die?"

Ward didn't answer. He couldn't. He didn't know.

Hunter hurried to fill the silence. "I'm not saying I wouldn't understand if you did, but I really need you to think about it. You went through something terrible that no one else can understand. I get that. But you're not the only one. I'm not asking because of you. I'm asking because of _him_." Hunter nodded his head towards Fitz.

Ward still didn't answer.

"I don't know you," Hunter admitted. "But I know _him_. And I _know_ that if you let yourself die…if you just give up, then so will he. Fitz isn't the same guy anymore. That kid used to be the most kind hearted person I've ever met. He was fun. He was smart. He's still smart, and I think that's what's causing a lot of problems. He _knows_ there's something different now. He _knows_ that he's changed. But unlike Skye, it's not something he can use. He's got a language barrier between him and everyone else that he can't get past because no one understands what he's been through. He's _so_ angry and _so_ afraid that he's going to be alone because he _knows_ you're dying."

Ward shut his eyes, refusing to react even as he felt the unwelcome prickle of tears. He didn't know what Zola managed to do this time, but he seemed to have no control over his emotions, which just made him feel like a weepy teenaged girl in a soap opera.

"I don't know if you've given up because you think you don't deserve to live, or what. I know you have problems with the rest of the team, and I know you've done some shitty things in the past. But we all have. Our past does not define us. _You_ may not see something worth saving, but that kid…" Hunter paused, taking a steadying breath. " _That_ kid sure as hell does. And if you die, don't think he's going to be far behind."

Ward pulled his arm reflexively tighter around Fitz's shoulders.

"Whatever they did to you, _either_ of you, don't let that be what defines you. You are a survivor. Fitz isn't. He takes everything to heart, and that kid has _miles_ of heart. And he needs you just as much as you need him. Do you know he's the _only_ one you don't flinch away from?" Hunter asked. "You do that with everyone. Even when you're asleep. You used to do it with him, too, but you've stopped. You might not feel like you're making progress, but you are. And he's _not_."

"That's not fair," Ward protested quietly. "You can't put that on me."

He could hear Hunter shrug helplessly. "No, it's not fair," he admitted. "But it's true. Fitz isn't going to get better without you. Whatever the hell you two went through…that's all he cares about. You must've done something extraordinary –"

"I didn't do anything," he protested, opening his eyes again. The traitorous burn of tears was gone, but something took its place. Something he couldn't quite identify except as foreign. "I didn't _do_ anything."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Because that's not how he tells it."

Ward shook his head. "But I didn't…I _didn't._ " There was something painfully blank in his memory. Something that gnawed at him even in his nightmares, something that was terribly false in his terribly real world. Every time he tried to concentrate on it, the more transient it became, like trying to remember a nightmare after waking.

"Whoa, hey, you're looking green," Hunter said, putting the coffee mug down on the nearby table. He glanced at the monitors, and whatever he saw must not be good, because he looks downright panicked. "Ward, you have to calm down."

He _was_ calm. Wasn't he?

"Shit, Ward, you're having a fucking heart attack," Hunter swore. He reached for Fitz's shoulder, and Ward panicked.

"No, don't!" he protested, holding up his hand as well as he could. It was a pitiful attempt and he knew it. "Please, don't. Please don't. Please _don't_." He didn't know why he was begging. It was Hunter. Hunter wasn't going to hurt Fitz. And in that same level of certainty, he _knew_ he couldn't let them take Fitz.

"Don't what?" Hunter asked, not reaching anymore but not retreating either, frozen midway between the two of them. "Ward, I'm not going to do anything to him, I just don't want him in the way of th-"

"Don't take him!" Ward blurted out, biting his lip almost instantly. He couldn't give orders. He couldn't tell them what to do. He could do nothing. " _Please_ don't take him!"

"Take him?" Hunter echoed. "I'm not taking him anywhere. Ward, calm down. You're in SHIELD HQ. You're not at HYDRA."

Wasn't he?

He knew it was irrational. He knew he wasn't in the present. He _knew_ it and could do nothing. Every time he time he tried to focus on Hunter's face, it bled into Magnus's features. It was Hunter and he was at SHIELD. It was Magnus and he was in the lab. Both were real. Both were lies. He squeezed his eyes shut.

It wasn't real. It wasn't real. _It wasn't real._

 _Yes it is_.

"Ward?" Hunter said, sounding unsure and cautious.

He was at SHIELD. Not HYDRA. SHIELD. Not HYDRA.

 _There was no difference_.

"Take me," he said, and cursed himself for sounding so weak. Cursed himself for even suggesting it. He didn't want to go. But he _couldn't_ let them take Fitz. "Don't hurt him. Take me." He managed to get his arm around Fitz so he was effectively blocking him.

"Ward, look at me."

_No._

"Come on," Hunter wheedled. "Just for a minute."

Ward took a shuddering breath, fully prepared to open his eyes and be back in the lab. He could feel his heart start to race again. He cracked his eyes open.

"Look around. _Really_ look. Where are you?" Hunter asked, quiet but firm.

"The lab," he bit out, then blinked. Details started to blur back to reality. "Hospital?" No. Almost. "SHIELD."

Hunter smiled. "Yeah, mate. SHIELD." His smile faltered slightly. "Sorry about that. I didn't think about it."

"About what?" Everything was muddled. His head was killing him.

"What Fitz meant by making a choice," Hunter said carefully, studying Ward's face like he was gauging his reaction. As if he expected it to go badly. "He said you made the choice he couldn't. There's not hardly a scratch on him because of you, isn't it?"

Ward looked away. He hated that look.

"I'm just going to guess here. This guy, Magnus…that's his name, right? He worked on Fitz. Zola worked on you. One of you was going to be tortured, yeah? That's how it normally goes. Usually it's reserved for soldiers that were already friends. Make them turn on one another trying to save themselves. But not with you. Fitz _couldn't_ choose, so you chose for him. Am I right?"

He refused to look at the former mercenary.

"Fitz said he'd rather shoot you then let you go through what you did a _third_ time. That means you went through this before, didn't you? You _knew_ what was coming, and you _chose_ to go through that again rather than let it happen to _him_." Hunter wasn't asking anymore. He knew he was right. Ward could hear the conviction in his voice.

"Ward…that's the most bloody heroic thing I've heard."

Wait. What?

Ward's head snapped back to Hunter so fast he was surprised bones didn't crack.

"Did _no one_ else tell you that?" Hunter asked.

Ward felt himself shake his head mutely. Why _would_ they tell him? Hardly anyone besides Fitz and once in a great while, Coulson, came by his room.

He almost jumped a mile when Fitz abruptly buried his face into his side, hunching up and curling his legs up. "You're my hero," he muttered sarcastically, voice pitched high like a girl's and dropped his accent. "But I swear to God, you call me a damsel in distress and I'm leaving and taking my body heat with me and letting you freeze to death."

Ward laughed. He couldn't help it. "How long have you been awake?"

"Somewhere around the existential crisis when you moved your arm. I was using that as a pillow, thank you. Pillows aren't supposed to talk," Fitz grumbled.

"Neither are space heaters," Ward pointed out.

" _I_ was asleep."

"Then go back to it."

" _Trying_."

Hunter chuckled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Both of you, go back to sleep. I'll make sure no one bothers you."

"What're you going to do, lock them out?"

Hunter scoffed, reaching for the handle. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to stick a sock on the door."

He dodged the plastic cup Ward hurled at his retreating back, grinning like an idiot as he dodged out the door.

They were left in comfortable silence and he began to drift again.

"Ward?" Fitz said.

"Mmm?"

"I meant it."

"Go to sleep."


	20. Chapter 20

"Skye, how many times are we going to go over this?" Coulson asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Until it makes sense!" Skye demanded. "Why does he have to stay here? There has got to be another base, another hospital, hell another _prison_ to put him in!"

Coulson waved behind her with his file, losing his temper. "Sure, Skye. We'll move Ward. You tell _me_ what you think is going to happen to Fitz. Or do you think he deserves to be put in prison too?"

Skye huffed, folding her arms across her chest as she paced angrily. "No, of course not, but…I mean, how much is it really helping that we're letting Ward be his emotional crutch? Is that really smart? Look at how codependent Agent 33 became after only a few weeks!"

"You mean Kara, who is now currently going to rehabilitative therapy at SHIELD's base in New York, and who will hopefully return to the field with minimal damage from her time spent as a brainwashed double agent?" Coulson asked pointedly. "Skye, we have been over this. More times than we should have, and I have told you the exact same thing every single time. The Grant Ward we have now is not the same person who we last saw at the Arctic base. I understand that you had personal feelings towards him, we _all_ did. But just the same way that you saw something in your father that could be saved, there is something there now that we have to at least _try_ and help. You keep saying that Ward has Fitz wrapped around his finger, but you never actually observe them together. It's the _other way around_."

It had been several weeks since Fitz and Ward had both been brought back to HQ. For the first few weeks, Fitz was practically a wraith. He slunk around in the shadows, carefully avoiding anyone who wasn't Hunter or Ward. He hardly ate, he rarely slept, and he managed to drop even further weight that he could ill afford to lose. He flinched at contact, and more often than not, he would react to things that only he could see and hear. The problem was no one seemed to figure out _what_ triggered them. Sometimes he would happily be working in his lab next to Mack and the next second he would freeze, zone out, and start to ramble at people that weren't there.

And while his zone outs were kind of creepy, it was nothing next to his explosive anger. You couldn't do anything that might possibly be misconstrued as an order or a demand. _Anything_. Like 'pass the salt'. Or "hand me that." If someone made a suggestion that he actually follow the doctors' instructions, Fitz went into a blinding rage that would put Dr. Banner to shame. He threw nearby objects, slammed his hands on tables, or, if it was someone trying to convince him to take his meds like he was supposed to, they were lucky not to get hit and have whatever they were trying to get him to take thrown back in their face.

He didn't talk to anyone. He didn't look anyone directly in the face. He started only coming out at night, and during the day, they would know if he was sleeping because they would hear him shouting in his sleep.

God help you if you tried to wake him from a nightmare. Mack and Hunter were lucky and didn't sustain serious damage. No one tried to wake him anymore.

And then _something_ happened. Hunter obviously knew what, but the only person he would tell was Coulson, and the Director was silent on the matter.

Fitz started to eat. Fitz started to sleep. He still didn't talk to the therapist, and he still wouldn't be seen in medical, but he was starting to put on weight. His cheeks started to fill out, and the haunted, vacant look wasn't nearly as omnipresent. He came out during the day – but the only people he willingly sought out were Ward and Hunter, and to a lesser degree, Coulson. He still didn't talk to the others, but she could hear him and Hunter chatting and laughing away when they went to visit Ward while he was still confined to the hospital bed.

What was stranger was the complete one eighty in _Ward_. Well, more like a solid ninety. Ward had been dying – from what, no one could figure out. A lingering, vague illness that no one could properly identify. When asked, the doctor simply shrugged and suggested that Ward was dying simply because he was willing himself to. It wasn't unheard of in prisoners of war, which is how both Fitz and Ward were categorized.

And then, as suddenly as Fitz's behavior changed, so did Ward's. He started to get his color back. He still couldn't eat on his own, but that was a psychological problem more than physical. With the PEG tube inserted, he was slowly putting desperately needed weight back on, and he actually managed to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. His shoulder was unwrapped and he was now in a figure eight harness and he had use of both his hands, though range of motion was still limited with his arm. He no longer looked like a corpse just waiting to be buried. Ward's reactions were pretty much polar opposite of Fitz's, which was just bizarre in itself – of the two of them, she expected the irrational rage from Ward, not Fitz. Instead, Ward still had mini heart attacks when there were medical personnel in his room. He still shook and flinched every time someone approached his bed…unless Fitz was there.

"But you don't _know_ that's not an act!" Skye protested. She could only think back to Fury's bunker, when Ward had stumbled in, broken and bleeding with a convincing smile and story to back it up. How he smiled to their faces, to _her_ face, and pretended like everything was fine not minutes after he slit another man's throat and hid him in the ceiling of a storage room. He beat a lie detector test that not even Natasha Romanoff could beat. There was no way she was going to accept a sob story about how he had changed now, no matter _who_ told it.

Coulson slammed his hand down on the desk, and she jumped slightly. "Skye, you are not only suggesting that Agent Ward is faking a serious traumatic experience but that _Fitz_ is faking it too. _Ward_ is not the one who is telling us _anything_. It's _Fitz_. And I swear to you, if you do _anything_ to set that poor kid back after all the progress he's made in the last two months, I will make _sure_ next time you leave the facility, you will _not_ be coming back. Do. You. Understand?"

Skye opened her mouth to protest, but bit back any retort she could say when Coulson pointed at her.

"Think very, _very_ carefully about how you proceed, Agent Skye. You're taking advantage of your status here thinking you're going to get what you want simply because it's what _you_ want. Your personal opinion on this does not trump physical and psychological wellbeing of another agent. I'm not asking you to forgive Ward. I'm not even asking that you play nice. I am _ordering_ you to stay away from both of them if you cannot keep your feelings out of the equation. Ward is not going anywhere until he is one, physically well enough to be evaluated, but two, until we know for sure what happened. SHIELD has too many recent failures of its own people to do anything less. You of all people should understand that."

Skye wanted to protest. It was not the same circumstances. It wasn't her choice to become a human seismic event. She couldn't help who her parents were. She was on the good guys' side, and Gonzalez and "Real SHIELD" had turned on her as if she was a mass murderer, when she had done nothing to warrant it. _Ward_ , on the other hand, had a fifteen year career as a covert spy and executioner, and they had all personally witnessed the level of betrayal he was capable of.

"Fine," she spat. "But when he turns out to not have changed at all, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Noted," Coulson said. "You're dismissed."

* * *

Skye stormed into the kitchen , flinging open the fridge. She was too angry to sleep, and there was only so much steam she could blow off in the gym without losing control and destroying something. And she was waaay too upset for yoga. No matter how often May lectured her on keeping her calm, it never seemed to help.

She grabbed a Red Bull from the fridge, kicking the door shut with her foot as she popped the top. If she wasn't going to sleep, then she might as well get an early start on caffeine.

Not paying any attention, she went to pull out a chair from the table and almost had a heart attack when someone else spoke.

"Not that one!"

She choked on her Red Bull, the caffeinated drink going up her nose as well and down her windpipe as she flailed for the light switch.

The light flickered on overhead, and she wished she hadn't turned it on at all.

Ward sat opposite the chair she was about to pull out, spoon in hand and an open container of gelato in front of him, one eyebrow raised, and squinting in the sudden brightness.

"What the _hell_ , Ward!" she gasped, grabbing a sheet of paper towels and swiping at the sticky redness across her face. "What are you doing here?"

He held up the half empty gelato container.

"You couldn't take that back to your room?" Skye snapped. "What are you even doing up, anyway?"

Ward didn't immediately answer, but took another spoonful of the gelato. "One," he said, talking with his mouth full and she felt her temper rise, "I'm sick of the same four walls after a month and a half." He sucked on the spoon, making an obnoxious smacking noise with his lips. "And two, they said short walks were okay until I get used to the plate."

She glanced down at the chair she'd been about to pull out and saw his leg propped up on it. The fixator looked less gruesome after the pin sites had healed and the stitches had come out. The only outside sign of trauma was a W shaped, angry red scar that cut across the middle of his shin. Instead of barefoot, Ward now had basically an added section of casting for him to be able to walk around in.

She went to move the chair anyway, but Ward lifted his leg, grimacing at the quick movement before she snatched it out from underneath him. He swiveled sideways, cautiously putting his leg back down on a different chair, teeth gritted together the whole time.

"You couldn't find someplace else to sit?" he grumbled. He massaged his leg right above the fixator. "Like on a hot stove?"

"I thought you liked talking to me," Skye said, smiling sweetly.

"Yeah. Back when you were nice," Ward snapped back. He at another spoonful, eyeing her warily.

"You mean back when I thought _you_ were nice," she corrected.

"No. Back when _you_ were nice," he repeated. "You always knew I was an ass, because I told you I was. You just chose to ignore the warnings."

"I _am_ nice!" she protested, and then mentally kicked herself for rising to his baiting. This is what Ward excelled at. Manipulating people and pushing buttons until he got the reaction he wanted, which usually meant irritating her.

Ward raised an eyebrow, his face clearly saying _Oh really_.

"I am!" Great. Now she sounded like a petulant teenager.

Ward shrugged indifferently. "You were a lot nicer when I was your SO. May's turned you into a mini-May." He took another bite. "Don't listen to her if she tells you it isn't personal, 'cause that's a load of shit."

Skye crunched her can slightly, and then closed her eyes, breathing deep. _Do not rise. Do not rise._

"Aww, she's teaching you her yoga tricks," Ward said, cooing like he was talking to a toddler. "You'll be a regular psychopath like the rest of us in no time." He waved his spoon at her. "Watch out. It's a slippery slope between SHIELD Specialist and Government Employed Serial Killer." He paused, making exaggerated expressions like he was considering it. "Mostly spelling, but hey. Glad you found your niche."

"I hate you _,_ " she growled. "I can't believe I ever thought there was something good about you."

Ward sneered, lip curling back. "You shot me four times in the chest and left me for dead. Pretty sure you're sitting higher on the asshole scale than I am right now."

"You were working for HYDRA!" Skye protested. "You killed Koenig! And Hand and I don't even _know_ how many others! What did you think I was going to do?"

" _I didn't work for HYDRA_!" Ward growled. "I worked for a _spy_ agency. It doesn't matter what fucking letters made up their name because they did the _same goddamn things_." He waved his hand to indicate the whole building. "You know when Garrett first brought me in to actual SHIELD instead of his twisted field ops training, I didn't know why the hell he bothered to tell me there were two agencies in one? SHIELD couldn't tell who was HYDRA, but guess what? _HYDRA_ couldn't tell who was _SHIELD_. So no, no I didn't really care whose name wound up on my list because it didn't _matter_. SHIELD hired me to kill people, they don't get to be cranky about me following orders. I still had a line, though, which is more than I can say for May, and you seem perfectly okay with taking orders from her."

"She is _nothing_ like you," Skye said. "Don't you _dare_ compare yourself to her."

Ward smirked. "Of course we're nothing alike. I don't kill kids, and I don't take on a contract to kill my boss after he saved my ass more times than I care to count. Even if it's the Director himself who ordered it."

Skye felt herself bristle, mostly because she _hadn't_ agreed with May's complacency with the possibility of having to kill Coulson, even if it was Fury who told her to do it. Orders were orders, May said, and she would follow them.

But if she agreed with Ward, it meant he had a point. And if he had a point, then maybe he was right about other things, too. And she wasn't willing to admit that just yet.

"You know, I don't get you," Ward said, interrupting her thoughts. "Your father is a murderer, and more than a little unhinged. You're willing to cut him some slack, find some bullshit excuses why he did what he did – including kill a bunch of innocent civilians, trying to draw SHIELD out. Mike Peterson _did_ work for HYDRA, and you forgave him pretty damn quick. Yeah, he was being blackmailed, but he still killed people following their orders. Bobbie and Mack were working for Gonzalez behind Coulson's back, and May's now turned on him like three times. Jemma wanted to catalogue and contain you and your new superhuman band of misfits as soon as you were different, and you're now like this." He crossed his index and middle fingers.

Skye glared over the top of her can. "What's the question?"

"Why do _they_ get a second chance and I don't?"

Skye scoffed, and took a long drink from the Red Bull can without answering.

A slow smile spread across his face. "You're not mad about what I did to other people. You're mad because you _liked_ me. You thought you _knew_ me." He chuckled. "You and May both. I guess it's a good thing you became her protégé. You two are the exact same. You make things way too personal, and worse, you get mad when someone else does the same."

"You killed people," Skye repeated, even though she knew she was beginning to sound like a broken record. How many ways could she repeat the issue she had with him?

Ward obviously knew she was lacking a good defense, and simply rolled his eyes. "You ever consider maybe the reason why I shot Hand without batting an eye was because I took it personally that she sent Fitz and me to die in the field without an extraction team? Not that she didn't give us one, but because she said that there _was_ one when there wasn't?"

Good point. The rest of the team had been just as upset at the time, but when Fitz and Ward had come back safe and sound because _they_ had gone to rescue them, it seemed to take a back seat to other issues. Not that she was about to say that.

"So what's your excuse for Koenig?" she asked. "What was the reason you sliced his throat so deep you practically decapitated him and then hid his body in the ceiling?"

"That was tactical decision, one which I'm beginning to regret," Ward said. "Had I known how you were going to turn out, I wouldn't have argued as hard as I did to get Garrett to leave you alone. The _original_ order was to kidnap you, bring you to him, and let HYDRA _make_ you give them the coordinates for the hard drive. For some _stupid_ reason that I can't understand anymore, I decided it would be easier to coerce you into it."

"You _kidnapped_ me, and tried to trick me into turning over all the files on Deathlok and Centipede," Skye hissed.

"So? I never hurt you. I never hurt anyone on the team on purpose. Deathlok caused you to wreck, punched through the windshield and _really_ kidnapped you. He also, under orders, gave me a heart attack. I at least felt bad about what _I_ did."

"You mean when you were a traitor?"

Ward smiled. "Lines in the dirt on the playground, honey. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm just asking that you understand that you're now a part of this shadowy organization that you thought was so awful when we first found you. It took them _years_ to turn me." He pointed an accusing finger at her. "It only took the 'good guys' a _year_ to turn you. Think about _that_ before you decide to use moral fiber as a basis for your argument against me."

Skye didn't really _intend_ to hurt him. She reacted without thinking, like she had done dozens of times when they were still friends, still SO and trainee. She punched him in the leg he had propped up next to her on the chair. It was an annoyed reflex. It wasn't even half strength. It wouldn't have done anything other than maybe leave a temporary red mark and make a slapping noise if it'd had been his other leg.

But it wasn't. And her fist landed just shy of the edge of the fixator which was supporting only 6 weeks of new bone growth and barely healed skin.

Ward howled in agony, launching himself forwards and curling protectively around his damaged leg.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" Skye's hand flew to her mouth. "Shit, I didn't mean – I completely forgot…" she tried to apologize.

Ward bit off his cry of pain, teeth digging deep into his lower lip as he tried to breathe. It came out as a harsh gasping wheeze, like it hurt too much to even cry. His hands hovered over his leg, clearly _wanting_ to grab it but unwilling to touch it.

"I'm sorry!" Skye repeated. She could hear running feet – someone woke up thanks to Ward's scream. "I'm sorry! Let me see if it's-" her head snapped round with the unexpected right hook from Ward.

"Don't touch me!" he growled through clenched teeth.

Skye rubbed at her cheek, mouth open in shock that Ward had actually hit her. If his shoulders hadn't been held upright by the figure eight sling he still wore for his healing scapula, be might've actually broken something.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?!" Hunter demanded, skidding to a stop at the door. Mack wasn't far behind him, and neither was Fitz.

"What happened?" Mack asked, pushing the Brit aside so he could take a look at Skye's rapidly swelling jaw. He turned to glare at Ward, but his face immediately softened when he saw how stark white Ward had gone. "What happened to him?"

"I-I accidentally hit his leg," Skye stammered, hand still on her cheek. She felt herself blush crimson with the lie, but hoped no one saw it around the bruising.

Ward glared at her, teeth still clenched tight, looking murderous.

 _Don't say anything_ , she thought desperately.

And he didn't. He looked over her shoulder at Fitz and Hunter and shook his head once.

" _YOU_ did that on purpose!" Fitz shouted, and launched himself at her. Hunter caught him around his arm and yanked him back before he could reach her.

"Easy, mate!" Hunter soothed. "He's fine!" He looked back at Ward, shaking his head to indicate to just go along with it. "Ward, tell him you're okay!"

Ward looked like he was about to ignore him, but he finally looked up at Hunter who was actually struggling to hold Fitz back. The normally even tempered engineer looked downright furious, a disturbing blankness in his stare – like he could see her, but he saw something…or some _one_ else, too.

Ward gave a tentative smile, which looked macabre through the blood staining his lower lip where he bit it. "Hey, Fitz. It's fine. It's okay, really!"

"She just fucking hit your leg on purpose!" Fitz protested, twisting in Hunter's grasp. "I _know_ she did!"

"Mack, get her out of here and call Coulson. We might need the medical team," Hunter ordered, trying to keep his grip.

Fitz's training with Hunter must've been working, because the specialist looked like he was trying to hold onto a fish.

Though the way that Fitz was snarling at her, maybe shark was more appropriate.

Mack took her elbow and steered her away and out of the kitchen.

"Knock it off, Fitz!" Hunter ordered.

"Fitz, look at me," Ward said, still obviously in pain but trying to hide it. "It's fine. Leave it alone. Look, I'm okay."

She turned back before Mack pulled her out of line of sight of the kitchen.

Fitz was on his knees next to Ward's leg, cautious, careful finger prodding around the area below the fixator.

"See?" Ward said. "Fine."

The last thing she saw before turning the corner was the look between Hunter and Ward that clearly said everything was _not_ fine.


	21. Chapter 21

**"Step by step, heart to heart**

**Left right left, we all fall down like toy soldiers**

**Bit by bit, torn apart**

**We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers"**

* * *

"Fitz, it's fine," Ward repeated. "It just hurt."

Fitz was pacing anxiously back and forth, gnawing absently on the edge of his thumb nail to the point he was wearing it raw. "She shouldn't be allowed to do that," he said darkly.

Between Hunter and Fitz, they'd managed to help Ward hop back to his room, trying desperately not to jar the fixator or his leg. The on call doctor scolded him for being up and around already when they'd only just given him the boot that morning with the restriction of no further than the end of the hall – not to the other end of the building.

"Fitz, don't," Ward said. "Just leave it."

"Why should I?" he snapped. "Why _should_ I?"

Ward glanced quickly over to Hunter, who was standing by just in case Fitz had another meltdown. The other specialist shrugged, at a loss on what to say to convince Fitz that personal retribution was a terrible idea.

"She didn't mean it," he said halfheartedly. Personally, he didn't really care whether she meant it or not. He was already looking at permanent nerve damage if he did anything to upset the work the orthopedic surgeons did. He didn't even like the weight of a blanket resting on the fixator, never mind a vindictive former partner punch it.

On the other hand, he did get to punch Skye in the face, which he found rather satisfying.

"What happened?" Coulson demanded. His worried gaze immediately went to Fitz, but Ward subtly shook his head.

"Skye," Ward said.

The on call doctor stepped back in, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Remember when I said don't overdo things because you'll just make them worse?"

Ward half shrugged as well as the figure eight would allow. "I didn't account for other people."

"How bad?" Coulson asked.

"Not as bad as it _could've_ been. There's marginal fracturing around the newly developed bone, but if you _stop touching it_ , it should be fine. All in all, you're set back about a week in recovery."

"Minor fracturing?" Ward asked, disbelief written across his face. "It felt like she'd snapped my leg in half again."

The doctor glowered at him. "Did you blank on our whole conversation we had earlier when I put that boot on?"

Ward smiled sheepishly. "Not the _whole_ conversation…"

"Oddly enough, not reassuring," the doctor grumbled. "Anyway, it hurts because of the nerve damage, not because of the bone. It's because of the frankly epic amount of damage you did to the periosteum – those tiny little nerves that cause pain when you break bones. Right now, you have both _actual_ pain and _psycho somatic_ pain. Basically, your body is trying to tell you to stop doing things because it's going to hurt you – whether that's true or not. So, once more and this time with feeling –" He made a rolling motion with one hand.

Ward sighed. "Don't overdo it," he grumbled.

"Very good. And if the pain isn't enough to get that through your head, if you keep it up, you're going to wind up with permanent nerve damage. That means _this_ ," he gestured towards the broken leg, "will be how it feels _forever._ "

"Got it," Ward said sullenly. He'd only _just_ gotten his freedom back, and now he had to be even more careful. "Can I still _try_ to walk with the boot?"

"Old man with a walker shuffle speed only," the doctor warned. "Or I will confine you this room until it heals completely." When Ward nodded reluctantly, the doctor left, muttering under his breath about wayward patients who couldn't follow basic instructions.

"What an ass," Fitz said. "It's not like _you_ did anything. It was Skye."

Ward shrugged, smiling faintly. "I dunno. I kind of like him. He reminds me of a British version of House."

Coulson interrupted. "What exactly happened? Mack came and got me and said that something happened between Skye and Ward but wouldn't elaborate. Would one of you like to?"

Fitz and Hunter both rounded on Ward, who purposely avoided looking directly at them.

"Yeah, Ward. How about you tell us what _really_ happened, because there was no way that was an accident."

Ward glanced away. "Skye and I got into it. I don't think she meant to do anything."

"I'll kill her," Fitz growled, so vehemently Ward wasn't sure he wasn't joking.

" _Stop that_ ," Ward snapped. "You've been acting weird for weeks now. What the hell is going on with you?"

Fitz didn't immediately answer, eyes flicking towards Coulson and Hunter before back to Ward's. He shrugged.

"Guys, leave us for a minute," Ward ordered.

"Not until I know what the hell is going on with the members of my team," Coulson said.

"I'm finding out. Go away. Fitz and I need to talk," Ward said icily. The look he shot Coulson would've given May second thoughts, and the Director sighed.

"Update me as soon as you're done. I'm going to go talk to Skye," he said, and both he and Hunter left.

As soon as the other two were gone, Ward turned to Fitz, his gaze softening. "Fitz, sit down before you wear a hole in the floor."

Without resistance, Fitz dropped onto the edge of Ward's hospital bed.

"What is going on with you?" Ward asked softly. "You're still not sleeping, I can see that much. You should be putting on way more weight than you are. And what's with the perpetual rage mode?"

Fitz worked his mouth a few times, opening and closing without saying anything at first. Not like his aphasia was kicking in, but like he really didn't know how to answer.

"That's okay. You don't have to answer right now. But there's something that's obviously bothering you, and –"

"How do you come back?" Fitz blurted. He looked immediately embarrassed, and suddenly found his raw thumb fascinating.

"Come back?" Ward repeated. He didn't sound like he was scoffing at the question, just curious about context. "From where?"

"Not _where_ ," Fitz said, picking at his hands. "From _when_. I-I'm angry _all_ the time. For no reason. And I _know_ it's for no reason but I can't stop it." He rubbed at his face, scrubbing both hands across his eyes. "Every time I look at people, their face is never the first I see. Every time I wake up, it's never my room I see. And every time I look at you…" Fitz trailed off. "They _remade_ us, Ward. How do you come back from what we became?"

Ward was quiet, mulling over the question. It was something he wondered often, and until very recently, assumed that it was simply something he was never going to overcome. It was just a downward spiral, and he hadn't started off very high to begin with. His mother, Christian, Garrett, and more recently Zola and Magnus all tried to twist him and bend him into something they wanted him to be but wasn't his nature and he had let them anyway.

"We weren't _remade_ , Fitz," he said slowly. "Remade means that what they did was permanent. That they changed us for good. We…we were _unmade_ , and this is us _rebuilding_ what we lost. You can always rebuild. People rebuild after disasters all the time."

"But what if it _is_ permanent?" Fitz swallowed audibly. "What if it never gets better?"

Ward reached out a cautious hand to Fitz's shoulder and could feel the younger engineer shaking. "Fitz…I'm not going to pretend that I understand what you went through-"

"But you _did_ go through it…" Fitz protested. "You're the _only_ one that has even a vague idea of what happened…" he choked off the last sentence. "Please…don't tell me I'm alone."

"Fitz…is that what you think?" Ward asked. "That you're alone in all of this? Is _that_ why you won't talk to anyone?"

"How do you try and tell someone what it was like? When they don't _do_ anything to you, but you still wind up… _less_? How do I tell anyone that…"Fitz stumbled, hands shakily covering his face as he buried his head. "How do you make them understand when _I_ don't understand? It's…it's not just _one_ thing, it becomes a _thousand_ things. I-I remember feeling _glad_ that you thought of me as Thomas, and that you protected me when you didn't….didn't _fight._ I was _happy_ that you felt safe enough to come to me after one of their sessions even if you couldn't remember who I was. And when I thought about it, I would just feel so… _sick_. And that's how it feels now. Every time something happens that makes me think of _there_ , that same feeling comes back. Like we never left. It feels like I'm stuck in the room without shadows forever. This is the dream, and that's the reality. Every _single_ time."

Ward sighed, leaning forwards as well as he could with the figure eight. "I don't mean that it's not going to hurt. It will always hurt. I'm not the best person to talk about recovery methods…I mean, my solution to the memory of my mother and brother torturing me was to kill them. That's not… _good_. But how you deal with the hurt is what will define it. But Fitz…it's going to take a while. You're too good for it not to. You can't compare the two of us because you're _you_. The reason why it affects you so badly is because you're empathetic to others. When you were treated differently after your injury, you couldn't stand for other people to be treated differently because of _their_ differences. Now _you've_ been hurt, and you're freaking out because as far as your brain is concerned, it _still hurts_. You just left a place where pain is all that was understood, and it didn't matter what kind, so now when people are hurt around you, you have to hurt them to get them to understand what they do _hurts you_ as much as _you hurt them_."

Fitz didn't lift his head, but Ward could tell he was listening.

"You need to understand that no one here is trying to hurt you. You don't have to try and scare them off, or hurt them first before they can hurt you," Ward said quietly.

"But what if they _are_?" Fitz said.

"Coulson wouldn't do that," Ward said firmly. "Neither would Mack or Hunter." He purposely avoided mentioning the women because he honestly didn't know what they would or wouldn't do anymore.

"But…what if it's not _me_ I'm worried about?" he asked quietly.

Ward smiled. "I can handle myself, Fitz. I've been through worse."

Fitz didn't share his smile. "I can't….I can't risk it again. I _can't_ let someone do that again. I just _can't_."

"Fitz, I'm an operative…a specialist, a _spy_. This is always going to be a risk."

Fitz shook his head. "No. Not…not _this_ ," he said, waving at Ward's broken leg. " _This_." He touched Ward's forehead.

Ward's eyes almost crossed as he looked at Fitz's finger planted on his forehead. "That might not be as salvageable as you want it to be."

Fitz suddenly looked exhausted. Guilt drew his fine features into sharp edges as he frowned. "You still don't remember, do you?"

Ward moved his head away, eyes narrowing at the younger man. "Remember what?"

Fitz grimaced, ducking his head and looking down before turning back toward Ward, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "The last few weeks in the lab. When Zola really started messing with you. With _us_."

Ward rubbed absently at the back of his head, running fingers over the now familiar raised ridges of a thin scar running across his scalp. It actually really _did_ bother him how little he could remember. It wasn't normal for him. He _always_ remembered. Now the closest thing he had to understanding was locked in the nightmares that seemed to evaporate every time he woke up screaming and couldn't remember why.

Fitz had that odd faraway look he'd started to get when he started developing dissociative episodes. He would mentally check out of wherever he was and it was like he would forget he was awake sometimes. Whatever he saw was not whatever was in front of him.

"If I'm honest, I hope you never remember. I know why we wake up screaming every night. I know why you can't remember anything. I know why you flinch from every touch. I know why I can't past the idea that if I'm not here, something terrible will happen to you." Fitz's eyes suddenly welled with tears, and he swiped the back of his hand across his face. "Because _I_ remember. And I hate every part of me for it. Because when you look at me, I know you trust me. But when I look at you…I remember every reason why you _shouldn't_. Because I'm the reason you can't remember. It's why you'll never be remade. _We'll_ never be remade."

"Fitz…"

"They couldn't break you. Did you know that? They couldn't break you. Not this time. So they didn't. _I_ could break. And I did. And when I broke…I broke you too, so I wouldn't have to be alone." Fitz laughed darkly. "And the worst part? I don't think I want to be put back together again."


	22. Chapter 22

"There's something not right about him," May insisted.

Coulson had to fight the urge to smash his head into the desk. "So help me, if _one_ more person brings up a vague concern about Fitz without either a solution or a definitive problem, I'm going to slap the taste of their mouth."

"No one has put a name to it because there _isn't_ a name to put to it," May pointed out. "Fitz isn't even necessarily acting odd, he's just acting…" she shrugged. " _Different._ "

"Not everyone has the same reaction to a traumatic experience," Coulson said. "You of all people should understand that."

"I can understand stress," she said, nodding in agreement with the Director. "But it's like he's developing a split personality to compensate for an inability to process what happened. Fitz wasn't ever trained for the field. He never went through SERE training, and the closest he got to interrogation resistance was that chair at Fury's HQ when we found out Ward was HYDRA. Instead of leaning on his friends, he's leaning on his former cell mate, someone who he's tried to attack in the past and now will _attack_ anyone else who so much as looks at Ward the wrong way. That's not normal, and more importantly, it's not _healthy._ "

Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know, I know. I just don't know how to fix it. Every time someone pushes, Fitz pushes back harder. I'm afraid if we keep pushing, it's going to be like letting go of a branch too soon and it's just going to hit us in the face. Skye keeps pestering me about moving Ward, but honestly…" He shrugged, making a helpless gesture with his hand. "Ward is the only one that seems to calm him down. And before you say anything, _Fitz_ is the _only_ one who can be in the same room as Ward when the doctors have to do anything. So far he hasn't done anything antagonistic towards anyone, except maybe to get into arguments with Skye or Simmons. But that seems to be more and more only when they harp on Fitz."

"That's because their relationship has become symbiotic," May said quietly. "If we don't figure out what the hell is driving their codependency, then they're just going to get worse – maybe to the point of it being permanent."

"Worse case scenario," Coulson asked.

"They literally become inseparable. Think of it like separation anxiety in animals, like if you leave a dog alone for twelve hours and come back to find your house destroyed. Except imagine if for whatever reason those two have to be separated. Or, keeping in mind the line of work we're in…what happens if one of them dies? I still don't know what Hunter said to Ward to get him to make an effort to live, but I will bet anything that it was something to do with pointing out Fitz's similar deterioration," May said quietly. "It's not healthy for anyone or anything to have a complete dependency on someone or something else."

"But how do we even start to try and separate them _now_? Fitz is a fifty-fifty shot of being slightly okay or completely irrational. If we try it with someone he trusts, like Mack or Hunter, if it backfires, there goes all the progress those two have made. Mack, twice over. And if we try and use someone else, even Simmons, he's going to know something is up, and he's going to resist."

May considered their limited options carefully for a moment. "What about using Ward?" It pained her to suggest it, but in reality, they were going to need his help. If for no other reason, he was the most believable liar out of all of them. Not many people got one over on Melinda May, but she begrudgingly had to admit that he was one of them.

Worse, he hadn't done it just once. He'd done it _twice_. Once, when the Asgardian version of Delilah revealed it wasn't her Ward thought about, and a second time when he'd turned out to be a HYDRA sleeper agent.

And even worse than that, she couldn't help but feel just a smidge of professional awe. Because Ward _hadn't_ been especially stealthy or deceptive. He'd simply been standoffish. He intentionally and believably created a cover that relied on simply not telling anybody anything about him, and when he _did_ choose to share, he was perfectly honest about it. Why did the Berserker Staff have an effect on him? Because he'd gone through a horrific childhood. Why did he have one of the best records of anyone working for SHIELD in the field? Because he wasn't a team player, and worked best when he didn't have an audience. Few operatives besides Barton and Romanoff could deal with no extraction team. Ward seemed to be one of those few, and she tried not to think about how many times he must've been left in the cold for him to become so self-reliant.

And dammit all if it wasn't simultaneously annoying and impressive.

"So how do you plan on getting Ward's cooperation?" Coulson asked. "He's belligerent at the best of times."

May shrugged. "Belligerent unless it comes to Fitz's mental health. I hate to say it, but Ward knows more than anyone of us do right now. You can see him worry over Fitz's behavior, and that's what Skye is misinterpreting as 'having Fitz wrapped around his finger' – part of the delay in Ward's recovery is that he's more focused on Fitz's than his own. I'm not suggesting a Cold Turkey approach – just get Fitz to leave the compound for like an hour or something. I don't care if it's to the grocery store or to the Bus. If we can get Ward to be the one to suggest it, he might actually listen. And once we can start separating the two of them, we might actually finally be able to officially debrief them."

"Are you going to be the one to suggest this?" Coulson asked.

May scoffed.

Coulson sighed. "Didn't think so. I'm going to get Hunter. He and Ward seem to be doing fine together."

* * *

"Just one more lift," Hunter needled, hands hovering over the cushioned bar of the leg lift.

"I hate you. So much," Ward panted, leg shaking from exertion. It was embarrassing, really, that something as simple as a twenty pound weight seemed like he was trying to dead lift the sky. His hands gripped white knuckled on the chair, and he could feel the sweat dripping down the side of his face.

"Physical therapy is _supposed_ to hurt," Hunter reminded, smirking.

"I'm burning your tea," Ward grumbled. "As soon as I get the energy to walk from here to the kitchen."

Hunter feigned hurt. "You told me you liked it just as much as I did. So much for honesty amongst friends."

"That was before you decided to torture me and call it 'therapy'," Ward said. With one final push and feeling like his leg was going to snap in two again, he shoved up with his last bit of strength and was rewarded with the click of the lock as the bar locked in place. He let his leg drop back down, sighing in relief.

"I know it's awful. However, just think how much worse it would've been if you'd had a plaster cast on the last five months. Your leg would be like a toothpick. And you would need to air out something fierce."

The fixator had come off several weeks ago. Ward remembered almost nothing of it, because he hadn't been conscious enough to. What little he did remember, he wished he could block out.

Removing a fixator was painless, according to the doctors. Use some wire clippers to cut the smaller supports, and then a drill to unscrew the three major ones that screwed into the bones of his lower leg.

Pain didn't matter, as it turned out. It was the _sounds_ that caused him to hyperventilate and threw him back into the memories of his time with HYDRA. Almost instantly, his world dissolved from the familiar glass walls of the medical ward to a dark, blue lit laboratory, the taste of blood in his mouth and phantom pain in the memory of a drill in his skull. And even worse were the gentle reassurances of the nurses standing by – the more soothing their voices became, the more warped the memories assaulting him. Things he couldn't pinpoint or rationally recall – just the absolute conviction that gentleness was followed by pain. The dim memories were bad enough, but without context of place or time, every memory of every op gone wrong blurred together. The female nurse was his mother, the surgeon in the glasses became Zola, and even more bizarrely was the vague memory of Fitz telling him not to fight, and it wouldn't hurt if he didn't fight.

Distantly he heard shouting, and then his world went black.

When he woke up, his mouth tasted like iron and despite the fact that he didn't have what looked like a set of K'Nex around his leg, it felt impossible to move.

Both Fitz and Hunter were still in the room, and it took a muddled moment for Ward to realize that Hunter was there for Fitz, not him.

The iron taste in his mouth was from when he bit his own tongue trying not to scream, Fitz informed him. The lethargy was from the sedative they administered when he started to fight against them when the drill started up.

The good news, at least, was that he no longer had the fixator, and he could start rehabilitative therapy the next day. Even after a month, it was grinding his nerves how long the road to recovery was.

"I used to be a top field agent, and now I can barely do a leg lift," Ward grumbled. "That's embarrassing."

"You regrew a few centimeters of bone," Hunter pointed out cheerfully. "Technically, that part of your leg has never done a lift. Or anything else besides exist. You should be proud of it!"

"Are you _always_ this cheerful torturing people?" Ward muttered half-heartedly, as Hunter threw him a bottled water from the cooler in the corner. It was a routine now – Hunter had an obnoxiously cheerful attitude every time he was in charge of PT. Nothing but smiles and jokes, even when he was perfectly aware of the fact that he was causing Ward pain.

"Why do you think Bob divorced me?"

"You said _you_ divorced _her_ ," Ward pointed out. He took a long drink. Water never tasted so good.

Hunter shrugged. "More of a tie, really."

Ward studied the former mercenary for a moment. There was something forced about his cheerfulness today. Normally their banter back and forth came easily. Ward was hesitant to call anything friendship lately, but Hunter was one of the closest things he had to one.

And while Ward's physical capabilities might be diminished for the time being, that didn't mean his observational ones suffered.

"You want to ask me something I'm not going to like," Ward said. "And Coulson put you up to it because he doesn't think I'll consider if he's the one doing the asking."

Hunter's smile evaporated and he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah…about that…"

"Out with it," Ward said. "I'm not going to like it any more the more you draw it out."

Hunter dropped down on the exercise ball across from Ward, balancing easily while bouncing slightly. "You want it sugar coated?"

Ward frowned, raising an eyebrow.

"Figured as much." Hunter sighed. "They're worried about you and Fitz. Namely, your codependency. And more specifically-"

"They're worried about Fitz," Ward summarized quietly. "He's not improving?"

Hunter shrugged helplessly. "I don't even know _how_ to describe him, mate. He's…erratic. Paranoid. He drifts off into his own world like he did when he was injured in the pod. He's…it goes beyond PTSD," Hunter said. "I know the signs, I know the symptoms, but this isn't survivors' guilt. Not like any I've ever seen anyway. Do you remember _anything_ about when you two were prisoners? Something we're missing? _Anything_?"

Now it was Ward's turn to shrug. "No. And…yes. I don't really know. Whenever the flashbacks hit, it's…it's in nightmare format. Like some American McGee version of Alice. I don't even know that they're real memories, there's too many things in them that make no sense. And I _always_ remember things."

Hunter's head picked up. "What do you mean?"

Ward's gaze shifted towards the door. "Did Fitz tell you…anything? About when we were imprisoned together? At the lab?"

"Not that I know of. He gets agitated when people ask about it, and it always leads back to him demanding to see you, to make sure you're okay."

"If you were going to be honest with me, how much of this place is under surveillance?" Ward asked, still hedging answering the question.

"Not this room. At least, not this moment. Part of the deal with being in charge of your PT was that I could turn the cameras off while we were in here. If you don't _want_ to tell me whatever it is, then I'm not going to make you," Hunter said.

Ward offered a weak smile. "Then why did you ask?"

"Honestly?" Hunter asked. "I didn't think you were going to answer."

"The first time HYDRA brought me in, they did the same thing they did with every new recruit that wasn't a True Believer and put me through the Faustus Device. It's basically a mind control thing – there's a whole science behind it, but it doesn't really matter. No one resists the Device. Not for long, anyway. It hurts much worse when you resist. But for me…it didn't matter about resistance. It just…didn't hold. I could still tell what were suggestions and what were my own thoughts. As far as I know, I'm the only one who did. That caught the interest of the Research division, which is where I met Zola the first time. He wanted to see how much I could take and still remember. Sometimes it had no effect at all, except migraines. Other times, it took days for the memories to come back. But I _always_ remembered. And this time…" Ward trailed off. "This time, nothing comes back. Not as a whole. Just weird bits and pieces that make no sense whatsoever."

"Like what?" Hunter asked, genuinely curious.

"Like instead of Zola, which would make sense, I have these memories of my _mother_ being the one who was there. And then I have these weird images of Thomas and Christian and then Fitz's voice telling me not to fight and to just give up…" Ward shrugged. "No matter how hard I try, I just get the jumbled version. The only time something seems to really come back to me is when-" he stopped abruptly, feeling his face pale.

"When you're with the doctors in the medical ward?" Hunter said quietly.

Ward's mouth had gone dry, and he simply nodded as he took another drink.

"Explains why you don't like going in there."

"I've seen enough hospital rooms for a lifetime. I was sick of them before this even started," Ward said.

"Did they put Fitz through it?" Hunter asked suddenly.

Ward shook his head. Then frowned. "No? They didn't, but for some reason I keep picturing him there anyway."

"So Fitz shouldn't have an issue remembering?" Hunter pressed.

Again, Ward could only shrug. "I guess not. At least, he says he doesn't…but…if he _knows_ what's wrong with me…why wouldn't he say anything?"

Hunter didn't reply immediately, bouncing slightly on the giant exercise ball as he considered the new information. "Maybe that's the reason why his behavior is so off track?" Hunter said slowly. "Maybe it doesn't look like survivor's guilt because it's just _guilt_? Maybe he had a hand in what happened?"

Something in Ward fractured. Is _that_ what was making Fitz behave so strangely? Is _that_ what he meant by he shouldn't trust him? He'd already point blank said he knew why Ward's nightmares caused him to wake violently – why he had lingering problems with coming into physical contact with _anyone_. He was only dimly aware of Hunter trying to get his attention as his thoughts spiraled into familiar dark territory. Why _should_ Fitz try and help him? Why _should_ he want him to remember? After what Ward did to Fitz, it would be more surprising if Fitz _had_ become a friend. What would possibly change that?

"No, no, Ward, I know what you're thinking and stop it _right now_ ," Hunter said, suddenly an inch from his face. Both hands were on his shoulders, forcing Ward out of his twisted thoughts. "Don't you _dare_ think that kid has any sort of ulterior motive when it comes to you. It may have been under less than favorable circumstances, but don't you _dare_ think that he wouldn't do everything he could to help you – _shit_." Hunter pulled back just as suddenly. " _That's_ why he hasn't said anything. He thinks if you remember, it'll be worse. He's trying to _protect_ you."

" _Help me hurt him, or I'll hurt him worse_ ," Ward blurted. His eyes widened in shock, mirrored on Hunter's face.

"Where the bloody hell did that come from?" Hunter demanded.

"I don't…I don't remember. Someone said it. I think someone said it to…Fitz?" Ward stumbled over the thought. "I don't…it wasn't _about_ him. But he wasn't an accidental prisoner. They _needed_ him. They needed him for –"

And suddenly the world disappeared in an explosion of lightning and fire and _oh god_ he was dying and someone was screaming in the background and it just _wouldn't stop_.

* * *

Out of nowhere, Ward cried out in agony, hands dropping the water bottle to splash across the floor as they came up and clutched the side of his head.

"Ward, what's wrong? Look at me! Ward! Come on, mate, not again…MEDIC!" Hunter shouted towards the door.

Blood poured from Ward's ears and nose like he'd suddenly contracted Ebola – he curled in on himself and it amazed Hunter how small a six foot three man could make himself, except he kept twisting to get away from some unseen force.

"WARD! Tell me something!" Hunter demanded, trying to pry Ward's hands away from where they were gouging out his skin.

"You can't…. _hear_ that?" Ward gasped between blood stained teeth.

"Hear _what_?" Hunter asked. " _What_ , Ward?"

It didn't matter. Whatever the hell it was, Ward could only take so much – and he hit his limit. As soon as the medics arrived through the door, Ward's body gave out, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

"Take him to the hospital ward, run a CT scan. Something isn't right, and I'm going to find out what," Hunter ordered, before taking off towards the Director's office.

He didn't even bother to knock – just burst through the door to find May and Coulson mid conversation.

"We missed something. Something is wrong with Ward, and I think I know what's wrong with Fitz. Get Zola out of the Vault. We need to talk to him."


	23. Chapter 23

The tiny little man could hardly pass for imposing if one were to simply encounter him on the street. Almost goggle like glasses looked too large for his face, wispy and thinning white hair that was growing long during his months imprisoned, and the fact that he was barely five foot tall made it seem ridiculous that he was SHIELD's most dangerous prisoner.

Until you saw the eyes behind the glasses – flat, dead, shark like eyes that made you feel like you were the one on the wrong side of the glass prison, and _he_ was studying _you_.

It was why Hunter hated coming down here. No one liked coming down here. Bobbie and May seemed to have fewer problems than most, but maybe that was because they were borderline sociopaths in their own ways. That, or their years pretending they were something else developed a thick second skin that made them immune to the psychotic doctor.

Coulson actually had the most entertaining way of dealing with him, which irritated Zola to no end. Zola tended to wheedle at you, pressing for information in a way you didn't even notice you'd given up anything useful. Coulson, on the other hand, flip flopped between truth and movie quotes, notably from the Hannibal Lecter series.

Watching Zola try to keep his cool why Coulson tried to keep from smirking that victorious half grin of his was why Hunter came with him whenever they attempted to interrogate the doctor.

This time was different. This time they didn't have time for games.

"What the hell did you do to Agent Ward?" Coulson asked with a calmness he didn't feel.

Zola smiled serenely back from behind the force field of his cell. "More than I think I have time to explain, Herr Director. You'll have to be more specific."

"Did you do something to his memories?" Coulson said.

Zola shrugged, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm afraid you will have to be more specific than even that. To what extent are you referring?"

Coulson opted for something he'd never really done before – opted for honesty with the prisoner. "Agent Ward has been out of your 'care' for months now, and yet, despite field training and prior experience and success at overcoming torture, his condition does not improve. More importantly, he still doesn't remember anything that was done to him. Recently, he started remembering information not concerning himself, but his fellow agent, Agent Fitz."

Zola chuckled. "Let me guess, Herr Director. It was _unpleasant_?"

That answered one question.

"So you were aware of the device in his head?" Coulson asked.

Zola huffed, looking indignant. "Of course I was aware. I was the one who put it there in the first place."

"It's technology we've never seen before. What exactly does it do?" Coulson asked.

Zola seemed to consider answering for a moment, before turning and walking away from the Director.

"And why, exactly, would I want to tell you anything about it?" Zola asked, curiously.

"Because you're not a doctor, you're a scientist," Hunter said, glaring balefully at him. "This whole thing is an experiment to you, and if you don't find out the results, it's for nothing. Tell us what we want to know, what it does and if we can remove it, and we'll give you the files we have. On _both_ of them."

It wasn't a perfect plan. It wasn't even an okay plan, as far as Hunter was concerned. He wasn't a fan of turning over the details to the hell his two friends had gone through and their struggles to return to normal. But it if was the only way for them to convince Zola to offer up any information…

There went any idea of Ward or Fitz trusting them ever again.

"I like you, Mr. Hunter," Zola said, smiling broadly and looking like a satisfied cat. "I almost wish I had you in my lab…you would've been an ideal third interaction."

Hunter held up the files. "You want these? Talk. What's the device do?"

Zola's shark like eyes flicked to the files before sighing dramatically. "Very well. It does a lot of things. Like a multi-purpose remote control. Originally, he was a true lab rat. It was an external cranial device, but it proved to be too…limited in what I needed. More importantly, I'm sure you noticed Agent Ward has a remarkable tolerance for pain. I couldn't rely on him not pulling it out on his own."

Coulson was much better at suppressing disgust than Hunter, who didn't even bother hiding the shiver of revulsion.

"So you improved it. What does it do now?"

"I'm sure you noticed he has a lingering sensitivity to light?" Zola asked.

"You mean how they trigger flashbacks?" Coulson asked.

Zola practically beamed. "Do they now? Not what I was referring to, but interesting none the less. Tell me, in his flashbacks, what does he recall?"

Hunter thought back to the first time Ward woke while in SHIELD custody. The memory blanking seizures that wracked his frame every time the lights came on and his desperate attempts to get away from something that wasn't there. "He hasn't said." The seizures were answer enough. So were his constant questioning of if he was crying, and why.

"The implant is essentially a remote control - I set parameters for it, and let it develop itself. The constant electrical interruptions are what are likely behind the migraines and thus the photophobia – and they will continue as long as Agent Ward's mind keeps trying to remember. It only activates in the extreme when Agent Ward tries to recall his time spent with me."

"So he could never turn you in or give over intel on what exactly happened. And because he can't remember, he can't start to overcome it on his own, because every time he tries, it just short circuits his brain," Hunter mused. It was sadistically brilliant – if what Ward said was true about his first time with Zola creating problems because he could always tell the difference between a suggestion and what were his own thoughts, Zola's little implant didn't give him a chance. There could be underlying suggestive commands and he wouldn't be able to tell if they were real or not simply because he wouldn't be able to remember them in the first place.

"Think of that feeling of always having something on the tip of your tongue. You know you know it, if only the words would come. You can almost picture them, your mouth starts to form the word – and then…" Zola snapped a finger. "It's gone. Unfortunately, his condition renders him inoperable in the field, which is where HYDRA would prefer him, but I was perfectly content to keep him in my lab. I…how should I say this… _enjoyed_ Agent Ward's presence."

Hunter didn't want to consider that implication.

"Can we remove it?" Coulson pressed.

Zola rolled both shoulders in a shrug. "Of course you can. The question becomes whether or not you _want_ to."

"Why _wouldn't_ we want to remove a torture device from one of our agents?" Coulson asked. "Explosives? Some sort of kill switch that will take out the whole base?"

Zola scoffed. "Nothing so crude. Right now, who you have with you…that's not the person Agent Ward was when you last saw him, no? This one is…more agreeable to your delicate set of morals?"

Coulson frowned. He hadn't honestly given it too much thought. In fact, he'd had very little to do with either Fitz or Ward once they started showing signs of improvement. It was the disadvantage of being the Director instead of a Team Leader. He didn't have the luxury of keeping a personal eye on his former team members. But he did remember pointing it out to Skye and Simmons that the Grant Ward they had now was not the same one that they'd seen at the Artic base.

"What did you do to him?" Coulson asked cautiously. "Is he another product of the Faustus Device? Like Agent 33?"

"I didn't do a thing. Well, not in the way you're insinuating. It was actually mostly Magnus – my colleague, as it were. I believe he was one of the first that Agent Ward executed during his escape. Agent Ward was my personal project. Agent Fitz, on the other hand, was Magnus's creation," Zola said, quite pleased with himself. He didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that he was telling the two SHIELD agents everything – in fact, he sounded like he was _bragging_. "And Agent Fitz is the one behind Agent Ward's new leaf. If you remove my device, Agent Ward is going to remember everything. It may take him a while, but he always does. He's going to remember what happened to him, and more importantly, _who_ did it to him. Agent Ward doesn't handle betrayal very well, does he, Herr Director?"

"What did you do to Fitz?" Hunter demanded.

"I didn't lay a finger on him. The damage done to Mr. Fitz, he has done to himself. I was curious what could be done to a man without doing anything at all. Mr. Fitz provided a unique opportunity. Not only did he have both a former relationship with Agent Ward, both a positive and a negative one, but he also had a traumatic brain injury that altered his own perception of self. Mr. Fitz never tested high in an aggressor scenario – except for when it came to Agent Ward. Perhaps it was the damage that Agent Ward caused while trying to save him from Garrett that he took such offense to. Perhaps he realized after the fact that he, who so far was adverse to change of any kind, everyone he considered a friend treated him as if he was a broken, useless tool. Everyone except Agent Ward…well, other than to feel guilty about it, which was a phenomenon of its own. Agent Ward doesn't typically feel guilt. Only in relation to those he considered defenseless and under his protection." Zola smiled again, and Coulson had to fight the urge not to shiver. "There were entirely too many things about those two that were simply _perfect_. I simply could not resist the opportunity to explore."

"Ward said that Fitz wasn't an accident," Coulson said. "That Magnus was specifically trying to capture him. What was so special about Agent Fitz that he went to those lengths to kidnap him? He didn't go through the Faustus Device, and nothing shows on the scans or tests we've run on him. Why Fitz then?"

"Because he's brilliant," Zola said simply. "Surely you've noticed quite the Broca Divide between him and everyone else? We needed someone to fix the Faustus Device. We wanted it to be a broader spectrum, but a more refined program. We had too many failures to retain the training they received. Agent Ward was our most promising operative, but we forgot the first lesson in running a covert operation…you employ covert operatives, who spy on others for a living – and he turned on us in favor of you. When you turned him away, he struck out on his own. Worse than that, he went and found our former agents, and started to undo the work we'd done. Agent 33 is a prime example. We could hardly keep our operations running if we couldn't eradicate ours agents' loyalty always being in question. Or pursuing their own goals – like Garrett. We knew Agent Fitz had done a fair amount of research into reprogramming the human brain so he could reprogram his own after his TBI. We just gave him extra incentive to push the parameters of what he was already doing."

"You gave him someone that either he wasn't going to care about hurting, and if that didn't work, the same person could also be made into someone he didn't _want_ to hurt. Either he fixed the device you were working on and you worked out the kinks later, or he solved the problem with half your subjects dying. And you made him complicit in _making_ it work so he would never either try to undo it, or tell anyone what really happened," Coulson surmised. "That's sick, even for HYDRA."

Zola shrugged, batting his eyes in a caricature of flattery. "Herr Director, what sweet things you say…" He took a several quick steps forward until he was nose to nose with the Director, the force field's golden netting starting to show in warning to his proximity. "Say what you want. I gave Mr. Fitz a chance to have his pseudo big brother back, the man he hero worshiped. I gave him a way to overlook Agent Ward's past betrayals and _see_ him as he truly was. And instead of being repulsed by it, Mr. Fitz _understood_ the monster behind the mask. Understood him _so well_ , he gave Agent Ward the one thing he's always wanted – a chance to start over. I even gave Agent Ward his brother back, in a way he would never, ever betray him again. I created _loyalty_ , Herr Director. One that no one could ever call into question. So yes, you _can_ remove the device. But if you do, the Agent Ward you have will be _gone_. Once he remembers it was his best friend, his _little brother_ , who redesigned him, _remade_ who he was…you thought he was a danger before?" Zola sneered. "You have in your custody the only rogue agent that brought down _both_ SHIELD and HYDRA essentially _by himself_."

Hunter's mind spun into overdrive. So the reason why Fitz was behaving so erratically was because it _was_ guilt over Ward. Not just survivor's guilt because he walked away without hardly a scratch on him, but because he was the one who helped brainwash Ward in the first place. All of that brotherly trust and affection between them was essentially fake – as fraudulent as Agent 33's actions under the same control. No wonder the better Ward got the worse Fitz became. If Ward ever truly recovered, _including_ the memories of what happened at the lab, everything they had rebuilt would be gone.

Ward would be the enemy again.

And Fitz would _never_ get the man who was his friend back.

Of course Fitz was never going to tell them what happened. The risk was too high. It wasn't even a double edged sword anymore. It had too many edges to count. If they left the device alone, God only knew the damage it would cause – especially if Ward eidetic memory kept setting it off. If they removed it…that didn't end well either.

"Wait," Hunter said, frowning. "You said the implant was basically a controller, yeah?"

Zola looked at like he was an idiot for even asking. "Yes."

"Who controls it?"

The scientist's face darkened, and Hunter knew he'd touched on something important.

"Unfortunately for Magnus, he underestimated Mr. Fitz's capacity for deceit. He once referred to Ward as a loaded gun. Except in this particular case, the only one who can fire it is Mr. Fitz himself. And fire it he did, which is how they attempted their escape."

" _Fitz_?" Coulson echoed, but Hunter was already jumping ahead.

"You meant to turn Ward into a weapon? Right? One that couldn't refuse orders? Except instead of the controller being you or anyone in HYDRA, Fitz made it himself. It wouldn't be that hard for him if you had him working on it in the first place. " He turned back to Coulson. " _That's_ why all Fitz has to do is say something and Ward does it. _That's_ why he has to be there whenever a doctor is around."

Coulson looked faintly green, and Hunter didn't blame him. Fitz wasn't the type of person who enjoyed power or the idea of controlling others or even telling them what to do. The idea that _that_ was what he was reduced to suddenly brought a whole new light to their ordeal.

And it made perfect sense that when they found them, Fitz was about to kill them both.

"I believe Mr. Fitz said he would kill Agent Ward himself before he let him live as a slave," Zola said mildly. "I wonder if that's still true if he's the master?"

Coulson hit the panel that controlled the opacity of the shield, shutting out Zola's view before jerking his head to Hunter to follow him. "Come on. We need to talk to Fitz. And more importantly, we need to get him to talk to Ward."

"You sure that's a good idea Boss?" Hunter asked, jogging to keep pace with the Director.

"Think about it – if we don't somehow fix this, we're going to have one of the smartest agents we've ever had as the _sole controller_ of the most _dangerous_ one. It means you only have to have one to have _both_ , and who do we know that has a habit of using agents like that?"

Hunter felt his heart skip a beat. "Gonzalez."


	24. Chapter 24

"How did therapy go?" Fitz asked. He carefully handed Ward a bottle of aspirin and water. "You know, before you wound up in the MRI."

Ward huffed, wincing even as he did so. "One of these days, I would like to be able to function as a real human being again. These migraines are getting old. And so are the blackouts."

They were seated in the common area, lights dimmed to barely on so Ward could leave his sunglasses off indoors. Once they'd discovered the photophobia was pretty much omnipresent, Ward had taken to Fitz's habit of being up at night. It was quieter, it was darker, and he didn't have to worry about the constant avoiding of other SHIELD agents. The few times that he actually needed to up and about during daylight hours, Fitz had jokingly gotten him a pair of Stevie Wonder styled sunglasses.

"At least you're finally able to walk normally," Fitz pointed out helpfully. "One step closer to being out of this place?"

Ward smiled grimly as he tossed back the aspirin. "Yeah, Fitz. Where exactly do you think I'm going to be allowed to go? SHIELD isn't going to let me walk away. I don't think they have any plan for me outside of sending me back to the Vault."

"Who says you would ask permission to leave?" Fitz grinned. "I don't remember you asking last time, either."

This time the grin was genuine. "No, I didn't. But I was also already outside of the building about two hundred miles away when I told Coulson that I wasn't coming back."

"Maybe they'll let you do the same thing as Hunter?" Fitz asked hopefully. "He's still technically a mercenary, he's just got a long standing contract with SHIELD."

"Hunter isn't an agent?" Ward asked, somewhat surprised. SHIELD wasn't known for outsourcing, but then, they could ill afford not to after their ranks were decimated with the HYDRA uprising.

Fitz shook his head. "He said he's not big on strings. He's always got the option to leave, even though I doubt he'd ever take it, and SHIELD wouldn't pursue him."

"No one walks away like that," Ward protested.

Fitz shrugged again. "They do when it's Coulson in charge. He's big on the 'live and let live' thing. He didn't even put a contract out on you when you left last time, after he offered the TAHITI option. Actually…did they even tell you what was wrong with you?"

"That's a long list, Fitz. When? When Hunter was asking about Zola?" Ward asked.

Fitz nodded.

Ward didn't immediately answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw as his hands tightened around the now empty glass in his hands. "Yeah," he finally said. "They did. There's, uh, a leftover from when Zola had his hands inside my head. Apparently it was literal this time. They don't really know what it is, but they think it's why I can't remember anything. Guess that explains this." He gestured towards his head where the scar tissue was hidden in his hair.

Fitz didn't say anything. He didn't even look surprised, which was odd because Ward had sure as shit been surprised when they told him he basically had the equivalent of a shock collar in his head.

"You knew," Ward said, stating a fact rather that questioning.

The younger man glanced towards the door, which was shut, and then back at Ward, opening his mouth to speak, but paused. He looked doubtfully back at Ward, or namely, the space between them, before scooting back in the chair.

"You knew, and you know I'm going to be really, really angry when you explain it to me why you never said anything," Ward said flatly.

Fitz took a deep breath, held it for a second, and quickly nodded.

Ward's grip tightened on the glass in his hand. "Are you going to explain or are you just going to let me keep guessing?"

"I don't know if I can," Fitz said, grimacing slightly.

" _Try_ ," Ward growled.

"No, you idiot. I really don't know if I can," Fitz snapped. It was so much like the old Fitz that Ward felt a little of his anger dissipate. "I've avoided telling anyone _anything_ about what happened not because I know that they won't understand or because _I_ can't talk about it. I don't know how sensitive that implant is, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you _more_ than I already _did_ by accident."

At Ward's confused look, Fitz sighed, and ran a hand through his short curls. "If I tell you this, you have to _swear_ you'll tell me if you feel another headache, or a spike, or _anything_ that says the implant is about to get triggered. And I mean it. If you ignore it, and you wind up seizing on the floor again, I'm _never_ going to bring this up again. Deal?"

Ward nodded mutely, looking curious and worried at the same time.

"And…try not to hate me too much, okay?"

 _That_ raised an eyebrow, but Ward still nodded and he took a deep breath.

"I know about it because it was one of the first things that Zola did to you. We weren't friends at the time. I don't even know that you'd remember it even if you didn't have that thing in your head. I didn't think it had anything to do with your memories until we got back to SHIELD and every time you started to recall anything in the lab, you'd blank and…and _reset_. Like you would just block out everything leading up to them asking you a question and you couldn't remember why you were upset. I thought it was symptoms of PTSD – especially when it happened because of the lights."

Fitz glanced up from where he was mindlessly picking at the cuticles on his fingers. Ward didn't look _too_ angry just yet. And he didn't look too squinty either, like there was another headache coming on.

Maybe the implant only worked when Ward remembered on his own? Being told the events didn't count?

"But then the longer it went and the less other things set you off, I realized it had to do with whatever it is about you that makes you resistant to the Faustus Device. The more you tried to remember, the worse it got – I think Zola was just trying to punish you for eidetic memory, it just happened to work in his favor."

"Then why doesn't it work when I have nightmares about it? Wouldn't I be getting constantly electrocuted in my sleep then?" Ward asked.

Fitz shook his head. "Memories are a different part of your brain than the part that controls dreams. Besides, dreams aren't real, so maybe they aren't recognized by the implant. I don't know for sure. And I don't know if it's more like a conscious effort is what sets it off, or what. Zola designed it, and I was stuck mostly with Magnus."

"So what the hell was the point in making it impossible for me to remember being tortured? That's usually Zola's favorite part," Ward pointed out.

Fitz felt his heartbeat quicken, his mouth going dry and his palms starting to sweat. "He-" his throat constricted and he tried to clear it. "Th-that's not what he was trying to do. Magnus figured out a way to get the Faustus Device to work on you. If he could get you to _not try_ , and _stop resisting_ , he was going to make it so you couldn't tell the difference between suggestion and thought. Magnus…Magnus and I reworked device, and it was-" Fitz suddenly couldn't breathe. His hands shook even as he gripped the arms of the chair, white knuckled.

He could hear Ward slide closer, but he didn't dare look up. He couldn't look the older agent in the face and tell him his part in destroying him. _Jesus_ , he didn't want Coulson offering to rewrite him _happier_ memories, how the hell was he going to forgive him for creating _nightmares_?

"Fitz?" Ward asked quietly. "It's okay, just breathe-"

"I didn't want to hurt you," Fitz blurted out. He could hear his own teeth chattering even though he wasn't cold. "I didn't want to, and I refused. I didn't even _like_ you, but I couldn't _, I couldn't_ do what they wanted. But then they made it _worse_ , and you were going to _die_ and I couldn't…I couldn't let that happen. _Help us hurt him or we'll hurt him worse_ …" He gulped in air like he was drowning, and he fought the urge to claw at the loose neck of his shirt.

"Fitz-" Ward tried again, but it was like a dam had broken loose.

"Every time I failed, they _hurt you_ , every time I said no, _they hurt you_ , and fucking _Christ_ , I was watching you _die._ I tried…I _tried_ to tell myself that being alive was better than being dead, and it wouldn't matter _how_ , but then…then I _saw_ what they did to you. What I was _helping_ them do and I couldn't do it anymore. If we died, they were just going to find someone else to replace us. It was _never_ going to be over unless…I…used the Device on… _you_ ," Fitz's breathe was coming so fast and sharp he could barely get out the last sentence.

"Fitz," Ward repeated, and this time, he put a cautious hand on Fitz's bouncing leg. "Fitz, open your eyes."

Fitz hadn't even realized he'd squeezed them shut. They popped open in surprise, and Ward was kneeling carefully on the floor next to the chair, one hand on his knee, smiling gently back at him.

"There – just breathe. What did I tell you at the beginning of all this?" Ward asked quietly.

"That I take things too personally," Fitz answered, surprised he even remembered that conversation when he'd first run into Ward.

Ward shook his head. "No. After that. _Everyone breaks_ , Fitz. That's the point of it. HYDRA has had _decades_ to perfect it. I don't blame you for giving in, I _can't_. And you're the reason we're here right now, alive and _trying_ to find our way back to normal."

"But what's _your_ normal, Ward?" Fitz whispered.

Ward froze, looking stricken. And Fitz knew it suddenly clicked _why_ Fitz had been so desperate not to tell him details, why he was so afraid that Ward would remember more than just what Zola did, or what Fitz helped him destroy.

Ward _didn't_ have a normal. His whole life, everyone he'd ever known had tried to tell him who he was, what he was supposed to do, and none of it was pleasant. He'd only just started to figure out for himself what kind of a person he really was – was he a good man _in spite_ of what he'd done, and what had been done to him? Or was he a bad one, _because_ of everything?

"If you remember, if – if you go back to what you _were_ …" Fitz bit his lip. "If you go back to how it used to be, they'll kill you. A-and I can't stand that. Because I'm hoping the _real_ you is the one I saw back there. The one that even when you were in so much pain, you tried to protect me. The one who stood between me and the darkness because you thought you were already lost to it. I don't want to believe _that_ version of you doesn't exist anymore, but I'm terrified that it only existed because of who you thought _I_ was…"

Ward didn't answer, his dark eyes unreadable at the information Fitz just dropped on him. His grip was painfully tight on Fitz's knee, but he didn't say anything. Maybe it's what he deserved. He felt like he deserved so much worse.

"You were the reason I let them in, weren't you," Ward said finally. "You became the trigger." He paused, searching Fitz's face. For what, Fitz didn't know. "Is that why I keep remembering Thomas being there?"

Fitz was actually dumbfounded that Ward even remembered _that_ , but it made sense that wasn't a trigger for the implant. They couldn't fry his brain every time he thought of Fitz as Thomas because that's what they'd been training him to do.

"They made me pretend," Fitz admitted quietly, unable to meet Ward's gaze. "At first I hated it. I felt like I was betraying your only happy memory. But then…I remembered what it was like when I still thought of you as my older brother…an as awful as it sounds, and as awful as I felt, I wanted that part of you back in any form I could."

"Fitz, look at me."

He couldn't. And Ward didn't try to make him.

"Fitz, you don't have to worry about me having to think of you as Thomas," Ward said, all traces of anger gone. "You're always going to be my little brother. I'm never going to do anything to hurt you, okay? We've moved past it, right?"

Fitz wanted that to be true more than anything.

"Why are you so afraid that if I remember everything, that won't be true?" Ward asked, voice still quiet, soothing.

Fitz was suddenly horribly reminded of Magnus, so much so that he physically recoiled, shoving back in his seat away from Ward who looked almost offended. "It's not you I'm worried about," Fitz snapped. "I'm worried about the others."

Specifically, Gonzalez. Weaver. Or any other Garrett, Zola, or Magnus in the world. In his more paranoid moments, he was even worried about what would happen if Coulson found out the true extent of his part in Ward's conditioning. If they wanted a weapon, they would have it. HYDRA's most prized agent, and unwavering loyalty.

"The others? Why? What do they have to do with it?" Ward asked, frowning.

SHIELD was about control. Containment. Classification and elimination. At some point, they'd gone from a shield to a sword, and Fitz could feel it about to come down on the back of his neck.

"They made you into a gun," Fitz said. "They wanted you as a weapon. One that wouldn't question, only obey. And they succeeded. Except they weren't the ones who could pull the trigger."

Fitz finally made himself look up, forced himself to meet Ward's gaze so he could see the truth in what he said, and fought the urge to physically brace himself for the reaction. "But I could. And I did."


	25. Chapter 25

"What do you mean, you _did_?" Ward growled. There was a flicker of something in his dark eyes, something that Fitz hadn't seen for months. Anger. Rage. _Betrayal_.

"I-I panicked," Fitz tried to explain.

" _What do you mean, you_ used _me_?" Ward snarled, his hand gripping Fitz's wrist with crushing force.

"I t-tried the only t-thing I could think of!" Fitz protested, prying at Ward's fingers, but he only tightened them further, digging his nails into Fitz's skin. He felt his face flush with the return of his stutter, something that hadn't been a problem since the early days of their imprisonment.

"You said they wanted a weapon, one that obeyed without orders," Ward pushed, voice oddly steady compared to the anger Fitz could see in every rigid muscle. "How did we escape, _Fitz_?"

"We did-didn't," Fitz said, trying to force himself not to flinch away, not to look guiltier than he already felt.

"They didn't find us in a cell, Fitz. We had to escape from somewhere. Why do I have memories of Thomas instead of you?"

Fitz could feel his heart in his throat as he tried to answer. He hadn't been the focus of Ward's rage before, and he'd seen what happened to the others who found themselves there. "You're hurting me."

Ward's grip only tightened in response. "That's the idea. I'll break it if you don't tell me soon. What did you mean by _you pulled the trigger_?"

Fitz glared balefully back, trying not to rise to Ward's anger. He tried to tell himself that this was what he expected, what he couldn't blame Ward for. He'd done the same thing as everyone else that he'd ever trusted, and had used him for his own purpose. It shouldn't matter that it was the only thing that saved them. That saved _Ward_ from having a very, very different puppet master.

"I didn't think we would live," Fitz snarled. "I thought we were going to die. I didn't expect you to listen to me. I didn't think it would work. Nothing else had. But I decided I would rather die than help them, and if that meant taking you with me, then so be it. Did I guess wrong when I thought you would prefer to be dead than a slave?"

"It doesn't matter if you were right or wrong, the choice wasn't yours to make!" Ward snapped. "If it was a simple matter of dying free then why didn't you just shoot me as soon as you could get a gun?"

"What do you think I was _trying_ to do when SHIELD found us?" Fitz shouted back. "I'm sorry killing you wasn't the first order of business, but I meant it when I said I would see you dead before you were back in HYDRA's hands!"

"Does that promise still hold true if _you're_ the puppeteer?" Ward sneered. The eerie calm from before was rapidly evaporating, and Fitz could feel Ward's hand literally shaking with rage. "Or was that your end game all along? Were you _really_ there by accident? Were you _really_ blackmailed into helping them perfect the Faustus Device?"

Fitz wrenched his hand free of Ward's grasp, spinning away from him before angrily turning back, shoving the taller agent hard. The weaker leg wavered slightly as Ward stumbled back, but Ward remained standing. "I don't want to fight with you!"

"Then tell me not to!" Ward yelled. "That's what you did, isn't it? That's what you can do?"

"Have I _ever_ told you to do _anything_?" Fitz protested. "Have I ever asked _anything_ of you?"

"I don't know because I can't _remember_ ," Ward said, gesturing angrily to the old scars. "Thanks to _you._ "

Fitz could feel the familiar burn in the back of his eyes, and he swiped a sleeve angrily across his face. He was _not_ going to wind up crying like a little girl.

"All I wanted was for you to be real," Fitz said, and felt the blush creep back across his face. "I just wanted you to be real. I wanted to keep you as long as I could, because…because last time you pretended to be good long enough that you actually started to believe it yourself. But…" Fitz stumbled, looking for the words he needed.

"But _what_?" Ward growled.

"You've never done well as a good guy," Fitz said quietly. "I wanted you to have a _chance_ this time. What if…what if when it wore off, you weren't the same anymore? What if you didn't remember any of it?"

"But I _don't fucking remember a thing!_ " Ward shouted. "It's just a blank!"

"You trusted me," Fitz blurted out. "You _trusted_ me, and you _talked_ to me, and I wanted to keep hating you. I couldn't imagine any scenario where I would _ever_ forgive you for what you did to me." Fitz could hear his voice cracking, but he didn't care. He'd kept everything bottled up for months and now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. "You tried to kill me, Ward. I don't care how you try to rationalize it, but it still comes down to the fact that when you had a chance to do something good, to do something _right_ , you still chose to do something _wrong_. I wanted to hate you forever, because I couldn't _understand_. We were friends before. And then, in the middle of all that hate, all that…t-that _suffering_ …I met the _real_ you. And it wasn't some…some sociopathic serial killer. It was the person I was friends with before. And I found out I was willing to terrible things to try and save that part of you." Fitz paused just long enough to scrub a sleeve over his face. "C-can you blame me for wanting to keep it?"

Ward turned his back, refusing to look Fitz in the face anymore. He kept one hand over his mouth as he angrily swiped the other through his hair. "You're acting like I'm two different people," he finally said, pulling his hand away from his face, only to clench it white knuckled at his side.

Ward _was_ angry. Less for the reasons Fitz obviously thought he was, but that familiar well of rage and anger kept threatening to bubble up. Part of the reason why he'd put a sudden distance between the two of them was so he wouldn't punch Fitz in the face like a part of him really, _really_ wanted to.

It wasn't so much that Fitz had hidden information. Ward had been a spy long enough to know the value of secrets and tactically, he could rationalize Fitz's decision. The kid took the term 'friends close and enemies closer' to an all new level. Realistically, Fitz _didn't_ have much in the way of options. Assuming the younger agent meant it when he said he was trying to help, and misguided as Ward thought it was, it seemed to be the truth. If Fitz told anyone, even Hunter or Coulson, there was no guarantee that someone else wouldn't find out. There wasn't even much of an assurance that the Director himself wouldn't do something about it, and no scenario that Ward could imagine ended with Ward and Fitz outside of vault cells and Ward free of the controller.

It was self-preservation that kept Fitz silent, and Ward could hardly fault him for that.

What he _could_ find fault with was that Fitz still seemed to think of him as two separate people. One that deserved saving, and one that didn't. And the one that didn't still needed to have a muzzle on it. Whether Fitz realized it or not, he'd effectively given Ward his own version of a conscience – one that if push came to shove, Ward wouldn't be able to ignore.

And that, to him, was no different than Coulson's offer of T.A.H.I.T.I, or Zola's promise of mind control.

"Am I wrong?" Fitz snapped back.

Ward's mouth twitched in a familiar halted smirk, but it was gone so fast Fitz barely noticed. "Only in every way that matters."

He grabbed a forgotten knife from the table behind him, probably left over from the last time someone actually sat down for food.

"What are you doing?" Fitz asked warily, eyes drifting to the knife.

"You said you'd never use the controller," Ward said, carelessly flipping the knife end over end in his open palm. "That you would never do that to me."

Fitz shook his head, taking a step back.

"Not even to save yourself?" Ward asked mildly. He paused his idle tossing, hilt firmly in his hand. He could hit Fitz easily from here, and the engineer knew it.

Fitz's eyes widened fractionally, but otherwise didn't move, remaining stoically in place.

"Hmm," he mused, quietly assessing Fitz's stance. Not really afraid, but not because he intended to tell Ward to stop – because the kid probably carried enough guilt with him to think he deserved it. "Maybe you wouldn't use it to save yourself."

He clenched his hand tighter, white knuckled grip across the hilt. "How about saving me from myself?"

Before Fitz could say anything, Ward stabbed the knife's point into his wrist, just below the start of his old scars, dragging it down towards his elbow.

"Ward, _stop_!" Fitz cried out, without thinking.

And Ward did.

He froze in place, knife tip still buried in his arm as bright red blood bubbled up from the newly torn veins. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, not to move the knife, or to stop the well of blood dripping down his arm and onto the floor.

He couldn't even look up to see Fitz's face as he heard him clap both hands over his mouth in horror.

"Shit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Fitz cursed, and Ward could hear him scramble forwards.

A towel pressed itself against the open wound, and Fitz's cautious fingers pulled away the knife, tossing it behind Ward where it landed with a clatter on the table.

"I didn't mean to," Fitz said, pressing the rapidly soaking towel even tighter around the cut. "Why did you have to do that?"

Ward had only managed two or three inches before Fitz stopped him, just like Ward knew he would.

"To prove a point," Ward answered. That the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

And to find out just how tight Fitz held the leash.

"And what point was that, Mr. Ward?"

They both started at the new voice, heads simultaneously snapping towards the source.

In the doorway, hand posed on the frame like he was about to knock, was Gonzalez.

The man had never concerned Ward before. They in fact had almost no interaction at all, save for the occasional updates brought to him by Hunter. Gonzalez apparently didn't think either of them were worthy of interest.

By the look on his face now, though, with that crafty sort of smile almost hidden by his moustache, Ward knew he'd seen enough to change his mind. They were definitely interesting now.

And Ward knew what it was like to be found _interesting_ by men in power.


	26. Chapter 26

Interrogation was never high on his places to visit, either as a prisoner or as an interrogator. It was entirely too open policy – he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, or how he was supposed to answer, which is partly how he came by his ability to kind of sort of not really say anything at all but still _sounded_ like he was being honest.

Honesty is open for interpretation anyway.

Gonzalez sat opposite him, a conspicuous Top Secret file in front of him on the table. Bobbi stood in the corner, arms crossed firmly across her chest and looking decidedly accusing.

For once, Ward wasn't entirely sure what he'd done to piss her off.

"You know, if you just wanted to talk, we were fine where we were. Seats are comfier," Ward pointed out. He held up his cuffed hands, one of which sat uncomfortably tight on his recently bandaged wound. "And these are a little excessive, don't you think?"

Gonzalez looked unimpressed. "You seem to be under the impression that I don't know you, Mr. Ward. Quite the contrary. I know you _very_ well, and more importantly, what you're capable of."

Ward smiled. "You say such nice things. You still didn't need your goon squad to get me here."

"You didn't put up nearly as much resistance as I was expecting," Gonzalez conceded. "Why is that?"

Ward shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "Fitz asked me to."

Which was mostly true. Actually, Fitz had said some rather not nice things about Gonzalez and the guards sent to bring him to interrogation, but when they'd made it clear that they weren't overly concerned about the condition in which Ward arrived at interrogation, he stopped protesting. At least he'd caught himself in the middle of _telling_ Ward to go with them while he looked for Coulson, instead just asking him not to put up a fight.

"You're no longer an agent of SHIELD, Mr. Ward. And now that you have recovered physically well enough to answer for your part in the HYDRA uprising and in the lab we found you and Agent Fitz in, we're no longer obligated to give you asylum."

"Even if an asylum is what you need," Bobbi muttered from her corner.

"Said the woman who set fire to her ex's '67 GTO convertible," Ward said flippantly. "Seriously. Who does that to a car like that?"

"Mr. Ward," Gonzalez said warningly, and Ward turned back to him.

Ward bared his teeth at Bobbi, but otherwise did nothing. He turned back to Gonzalez.

"So I'm in here because you decided that I'd had enough free loading medical attention from you. Fine. Why aren't I in the Vault then?"

"This is your chance to tell your half of the story," Gonzalez said. He actually sounded legitimately interested in Ward's testimony.

That itself was interesting to Ward. However, given what he'd just discovered from Fitz, it was incredibly dangerous, too.

"SHIELD has never been interested in what I had to say," Ward said cautiously. He didn't have enough room to cross his arms, so he settled for clenching his hands together.

"You were a covert operative who specialized in deep cover and espionage. You fooled Fury's lie detector. Can you blame the agency for being reluctant to listen?"

"The last time I was imprisoned with SHIELD, I did nothing _but_ help. I answered every question you asked. I gave you HYDRA's playbook, and your thanks was to turn me over to Christian," Ward shot back. "Forgive me if this time around, I don't particularly feel like playing."

At the mention of his brother, Gonzalez's mustache twitched upwards, as if he'd half halted a smirk. "Ah yes. The infamous Ward children. What ever happened to your sister?"

"Angela? Probably starting an insurrection in a third world country somewhere. We didn't exactly keep in touch, you know? Don't get me wrong, I love my sister, but she's like a tornado meets a volcano – not even HYDRA wanted to recruit her."

"You and Christian were quite the dynamic duo, weren't you? One in the public eye, the other in shadows...both shaping the world. If that wasn't planned, I would be very surprised."

"You have SHIELD to thank for how I turned out," Ward pointed out. "Garrett didn't come to me as a HYDRA agent. He came to me as SHIELD."

Bobbi actually looked mildly surprised about that.

"What? You didn't know? I looked it up a while back. Garrett didn't come for me recruiting for HYDRA. He was recruiting for SHIELD with Fury's blessing." He smirked. "Also, conveniently enough, how I wound up on Coulson's team."

"We all have our crosses to bear," Bobbi said. "Just not all of us try and stab others with it."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to," Ward answered.

"What _I'm_ interested in," Gonzalez said, interrupting the two specialists, "is your part in the laboratory. Dieter _Zola's_ laboratory. I hear you and him have prior association. Care to explain how to came back into his care if you weren't a HYDRA operative, as you keep claiming?"

Ward felt his temper rise. " _In his care_?" he echoed.

Gonzalez nodded to the file. "He's listed as your former primary care physician."

Ward fought the urge to laugh, because he didn't know if he would be able to stop. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Are you saying he wasn't in charge of your care?" Gonzalez prompted.

Ward took a steadying breath, knowing Gonzalez was trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn't sure _why_ though. He'd hardly had enough dealings with the man to create any sort of interest.

"When I was first recruited by Garrett, I had to go through the same training as every other recruit. I failed my final field test though, and they sent me to Zola to try and... _correct_ the defect," Ward explained carefully.

"What field test was that?" Gonzalez asked.

Ward glared at him, clenching his teeth. "I wouldn't shoot a dog."

Bobbi raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. "You couldn't shoot a dog?"

"I like dogs," Ward said. "Especially that one."

"What happened?" Gonzalez pushed.

"Final test to get into SHIELD was to shoot the dog I'd had for the past six months when I was left in the field. Garrett told me to shoot it to show I couldn't form attachments to anybody or anything. I wouldn't. So Garrett shot him instead. And instead of dying instantly, the dog drowned in its own blood because he shot it in the lung, not the heart." Ward took a breath. "I still learned the lesson."

"And what was that, besides Garrett was a dick?" Bobbi asked.

Ward met her eyes before answering. "There are two ways to die. Slowly and painfully, or quick and painless. And if I didn't make the choice – someone else would."

"How does Zola fit into this?"

Ward really, _really_ didn't want to get into a history discussion with Gonzalez. Or anyone, really. Ever. "What does he have to do with what you want to know?"

"We're getting two very different stories, Mr. Ward. We're just trying to find one that correlates to the one you're telling."

"Zola wasn't my _doctor_. He isn't even an MD, he's got like eight PHD's in neuroscience, psychology and who knows what else, but nothing even close to a _medical_ doctorate. I was under his _care_ ," Ward made air quotes with his fingers. "Because when they tried to use the Faustus Device on me, it didn't work. At that point, Garrett was pissed that he'd wasted all that training on me if it turned out I was a failure, so he sent me to Zola to see if he could find another way of brain washing me that might work."

"Why didn't the Device work on you?" Gonzalez pressed.

"I don't fucking know," Ward snapped. "I was busy trying not to die while my brain was on fire from whatever the hell it was he was doing."

This seemed less like an interest in what happened at the lab or even in HYDRA than it did with his first time around with Zola, and Ward couldn't even begin to imagine why that mattered. It was years ago, and as far as he knew, it was all in Zola's records which SHIELD would've gotten from the lab after they raided it.

"So you remember your first time encountering Dr. Zola?" Gonzalez said curiously.

In vivid, technicolor detail.

"Yeah, sure. Why do you want to know about back then? I thought you said you wanted to know about last time," Ward said suspiciously. "Everything that happened back then is in a file somewhere. I know, because Garrett liked to remind me about what it was I could go back to."

"I thought you and Garrett were pals?" Bobbi asked, frowning.

"The guy ordered Deathlok to give me a heart attack, beat the hell out of me for a convincing cover story and ordered me to shoot the only friends I ever had and that was only in the last three days he was alive. I owed him a debt," Ward growled. "Something I'm guessing you and your friend Romanoff understand."

"Actually, Mr. Ward, I would like to draw your attention back to your first encounter with Dr. Zola, if I could. You say you remember your time with him? You were what...eighteen at the time?"

"Seventeen," he bit out. He wasn't particularly proud of the fact that even as a teenager he couldn't see the wolf in sheep's clothing that Garrett was – or the catch in what he offered. He was raised in a family of politicians and psychopaths. He should've been able to recognize it in Garrett just as easily as he could see it in his brother.

Or in the mirror.

"Wait, you were _seventeen_ when HYDRA recruited you?" Bobbi interrupted.

"No, I was _sixteen_. I was seventeen when they turned me over to _Zola_. Try to keep up," Ward said. He wasn't in the mood for displaced feelings of charity. No one had been interested in sympathy when they knew what Christian had done, or what his mother had done. As they all said – everyone had their crosses to bear.

"You were a kid," Bobbi said, and Ward didn't have to look at her to know exactly the expression she had on her face.

"Old enough to be tried as an adult for burning down my house with my brother still inside," he snapped. Usually arson and attempted murder got them off the sympathy wagon easily enough. He'd rather be hated than have that look of false sympathy and pity focused on him. "Is there a point to this?"

Gonzalez didn't answer immediately. He sat back, carefully studying Ward from across the table, and Ward had to fight the urge not to fidget. Wordlessly, Gonzalez flipped over the file folder in front of him, taking out a stack of 11x10 glossy photos, tapping them against the table to straighten them out. He slid one across the table, just in front of Ward.

"Do you know what that is?" Gonzalez asked mildly.

Frowning, Ward reached for it with his still cuffed hands and slid it closer so he could see it better. It was an almost empty room – plain white walls, white floor, and a black topped counter covered in various equipment lining one wall.

"A lab?" he ventured.

"Do you recognize it?" Gonzalez pressed.

Ward shrugged. "It looks like every doctor's office I've ever been in. Including the ones that didn't belong to crazed neo Nazis."

Gonzalez slid another photo over to him.

This time, Ward didn't reach for it. He refused to even look at it as soon as he recognized it. "What the hell do you have that for?"

"So you do recognize it," Gonzalez said, smiling slightly beneath the mustache.

"It's my family's house that I burned down. Why do _you_ have a picture of it?" Ward demanded.

"It's where we found _this_ lab," he said, tapping his finger against the first picture. "In the basement – completely untouched by the fire. But considering the reinforcements on the place, I would be surprised if a nuclear bomb would affect it."

Ward opened his mouth to say something – anything, really, except he realized he couldn't. What the _hell_ was Gonzalez playing at? This conversation had suddenly veered so far off into no man's land he had absolutely no goddamn clue whatsoever what the hell Gonzalez was talking about. Secret labs in the basement? That's like Dr. Frankenstein shit right there.

Gonzalez took advantage of his stunned silence and slid two more pictures over. One was his mother's portrait picture for her political office, and the other was a black and white group photo from many years prior – when she was still young and beautiful.

She still had that same shark-like emptiness to her eyes, though, and Ward often wondered how no one saw it but her oldest children. Even more unmistakable was the tentacled skull in the background of whatever the hell lab she was in for the group photo.

"I'm sure you already know this," Gonzalez said, sounding like he was delivering a Dear John letter. "But your mother was a very prominent member of HYDRA. You could say she was a legacy member. I'm not sure how Coulson and Fury missed that, or maybe they did and they just decided to ignore it. But I cannot. More importantly, I cannot ignore what she specialized in for HYDRA's science division. Do you know what your mother was?"

Ward didn't answer. The only word he'd used for her in years was _monster_.

More pictures slid across the table, and Ward couldn't help but stare open mouthed in twisted fascination. It looked like the pictures recovered from Mengele's experiments in Auschwitz – twisted forms that were probably once humans, broken, twisted and deformed. People fastened down to tables, faces twisted mid scream or worse, staring blankly ahead at nothing – Ward saw death enough he could recognize it in a photo. Missing limbs from bodies that sat splayed out on a separate table mid dissection. Blood spattered the tables and up his mother's otherwise pristine white lab coat.

And in the middle of all of them, was his mother – cold, calculating, and completely untouched by the carnage she was creating.

"She started off in crude experiments, but as she refined her craft, gained more experience, she branched out into biochemistry and eugenics. She became head of the science and research division, and she started experimenting with genetics. She wanted to see what made people _tick_ ," Gonzalez said. There was a strange edge to his voice that Ward couldn't quite understand. Anger? Awe? He almost sounded impressed with the horror his mother created.

"After she met your father, she mostly retired from active field work," Gonzalez continued, shuffling his stack once more. "She didn't stop her research though. And wouldn't you know it? She had four test subjects of her own."

The four pictures that slid across the table were painfully recognizable – their school portraits that used to hang over the mantle. Christian, Angela, Thomas and himself stared back at him, smiling mockingly.

"Your mother and father wanted to create enhanced people," said Gonzalez. "Their research indicates that they found a way to splice DNA from an unknown source with that of their own children."

Ward almost laughed. In fact, he _did_ start laughing. It wasn't funny. He knew it wasn't. He was being told that not only did his mother beat the ever loving shit out of him and his siblings, but she supposedly _experimented_ on them too. Apparently thinking of her as a monster instead of a mother was more accurate that he thought.

"Do you find this amusing?" Gonzalez asked, and instead of sounding irritated or even upset, he sounded like he might join Ward in laughing madly at this insanity.

Ward fought to regain his composure enough to speak, which took longer than he expected. "You have _got_ to be kidding me!" he gasped finally. "What the _fuck_ kind of scare tactic interrogation is this? What the hell is even _wrong_ with you?"

"Interesting," Gonzalez said, leaning back in his chair.

Ward knew when someone expected a different answer then the one they got. Gonzalez was expecting a different reaction. He wasn't expecting the disbelief, he was expecting….what?

"You _knew_ ," Ward breathed, trying to steady the shaking of his hands. The room felt like it was getting hotter, and he could feel cold sweat trickle down his spine.

Gonzalez didn't answer, but Ward plowed on.

"You _had_ to know...you were deeper into SHIELD than anyone else except maybe Fury...and Coulson was busy with the Avengers. How much sway did you have over SHIELD? _Someone_ told Garrett to come for me when I was in jail. _Someone_ had to make the decision that I was worth the effort. I was a nobody – I was a _criminal_. And this..." Ward's gaze flicked to the grisly photos. "If SHIELD knew about this, I would be the _last_ person they tried to recruit, so whoever it was _had_ to know about this, and they _couldn't_ have told anyone else. So either this is total bullshit and you're trying to convince me that it's not...for what reason, I can't even begin to understand…or you, Mr. Gonzalez, know a lot more than I gave you credit for."

Bobbi looked torn between believing Gonzalez or Ward – more importantly, it was now abundantly clear that _she_ had no idea what Gonzalez was playing at either. Which meant the co-director was still holding on to some cards.

"Are you trying to tell me you _don't_ know about your mother?" Gonzalez pressed.

"She wasn't the type to tell bedtime stories," Ward snapped. "And I think this is a load of crap, because I don't remember a damn thing about being experimented on by that bitch."

"You can't recall your recent time with Dr. Zola, is it so hard to believe that you can't recall a traumatic memory from your childhood?" Gonzalez asked.

Ward snorted. "I remember some pretty traumatic things – like her holding my hand over the stove to teach me about manners. So yeah, it strikes me as a little weird I wouldn't remember _this."_ He jabbed angrily at the picture of the supposed secret lab in the basement.

That seemed to catch Gonzalez's interest, because he suddenly sat forwards again. "She held your hand over a stove? Did you burn it?"

Ward frowned, glancing at Bobbi, who to her credit managed to still appear uninterested. "Yeah. That was kind of the whole point."

"I don't see any scars," Gonzalez said mildly.

Ward shrugged. "I don't scar easily. You can't even see where Skye shot me four times."

"You don't think that's odd?" the co-director pressed.

"Look, _what_ are you trying to get at? I don't have any memories of my mom taking anything out of Dr. Mengele's lecture notes, so if you have a point to all of this, can we get back to it?" Ward asked, exasperated.

For a long moment, Gonzalez didn't say anything. He simply sat there, carefully studying Ward for an uncomfortably long period of time.

"Perhaps your siblings would be more forthcoming," he said. It was so out of the blue, Ward had to fight the urge to physically react.

"What?"

"You're obviously of no help, and you show no interest in cooperating. Maybe a few months back in the Vault in your old cell will make you more compliant."

Ward felt his mouth drop open in shock, glancing to Bobbi who looked just as confused but fully prepared to 'escort' him to his cell. "What are you looking for?" he asked, sliding away from Bobbi as she unfolded her arms. "I can't tell you anything that I don't fucking remember!"

"Unfortunately you don't seem to have any of what I'm looking for, Mr. Ward. Perhaps Angela will have a better memory."

Ward scoffed. "I wouldn't go to Angela. No matter how desperate you are, you _really_ aren't desperate enough to go to her."

Gonzalez shrugged. "I have the full might of SHIELD behind me. Your sister won't pose a problem."

"Then you don't know Angela very well," Ward snapped. "Like I said – not even HYDRA wanted to go near her. Last I knew, not even Romanoff wanted to tangle with her."

Gonzalez was quiet again, but not for long. "Well since your other brother would require a medium to communicate with, perhaps your youngest brother would be of some use. From what I understand, he's not nearly as... _truculent_ as the rest of you."

"Best of luck finding him," Ward said, this time smirking triumphantly. "No one has seen Thomas in years. Not even Christian could find him, and believe me, he _looked_."

Gonzalez seemed to ponder the information, tapping an idle finger against his lips. "Ms. Morse, leave us for a moment."

Bobbi's head came around so sharply Ward was surprised he didn't hear a crack. "What?"

"Leave us. I need to talk to Mr. Ward alone."

Bobbi glanced back and Ward and he shook his head. _Don't leave me with the crazy psycho_.

But ever the good soldier, Bobbi shrugged one shoulder helplessly at Ward, and then promptly turned on her heel to leave, the door sliding closed behind her.

Ward was surprised by how badly he didn't want her to go. She may not have been a great help, but at least he could tell by looking at her that it wasn't just him who thought the co-director was going a little of the reservation.

Gonzalez pursed his lips, and Ward could see the agent studying him carefully, and it finally hit him why the man put him so ill at ease. It had little to do with the bizarre line of questioning he diverted on to – it was because he _knew_ that look.

He looked just like Magnus.

The older man leaned forward, so quickly Ward pushed himself back in surprise, though he couldn't go far still cuffed.

"I know more about your mother than probably even your father did," Gonzalez growled. "I know what she did to her children because she kept records so precise Internal Affairs would be impressed. I also know that her research didn't die with her – it went to her mentor's son, _Dieter Zola_. What _I_ want to know is if it was ever realized. Did _he_ succeed in making into the monster she always wanted? Her research was incomplete when she died – she was only given immunity from SHIELD if she stopped experimenting. I want to know how far it's gone. Does HYDRA now have a recipe for living weapons?"

Ward didn't answer. He _couldn't_. His head was spinning from the new information Gonzalez was spouting off and _worse_ , it was starting to make _sense._ His head was pounding and he felt his face flush from sudden heat. His hands were itching, even as he clenched them tighter into fists, wanting nothing more than to punch Gonzalez in the face.

"Are you HYDRA's latest chimera?" Gonzalez hissed. "Did Zola finish what your mother started? Or did they make a new one? Should it be Agent Fitz in here instead of you?"

Something in Ward's mind fractured. The words triggered something he hadn't thought of in years.

 _Decades_.

Suddenly it wasn't Gonzalez leaning in, threatening to interrogate Fitz.

It was his mother.

And it wasn't interrogation she was threatening.

" _Should I get Thomas instead? Hmm? Should it be him instead of you, Grant?"_

The explosive anger was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was like a dam broke against thirty years of pent up rage, and it was all consuming, burning through every fiber of his being. He felt his eyes burn, as if he was looking directly at the sun, the well of heat racing through his blood until he exploded.

 _Literally_.

Without thought, without any recognition whatsoever, Ward hurled a blast of fire at Gonzalez, barely missing him as the agent hurled himself sideways, clearly anticipating what was going to happen.

 _He_ sure as hell didn't.

Just as quickly as the rage came, it was gone – and Ward felt as though he'd been plunged into an ice bath. His vision blurred, and he blinked away the encroaching darkness that threatened to close in on him.

"W-what the _fuck_ was _t-that?_ " he stuttered, his teeth chattering together as the numbness sank in to every bone, every fiber. He knew shock when he felt it, but his brain couldn't piece the two events together. Not even looking at the melted cuffs around his hands that looked like they were made from wax instead of metal.

Gonzalez smiled triumphantly, completely indifferent to the fact that his prisoner had just defied the laws of nature not ten seconds earlier.

"Your mother called it the Hellfire project."


	27. Chapter 27

Fitz almost barreled straight into Coulson the moment he stepped off the Quinjet.

"Come on, come on!" he shouted, grabbing onto Coulson's coat sleeve and dragging him back towards the base. "You have to do something!"

"What the hell is going on, Fitz?" Coulson demanded, but allowed himself to be pulled along. "Your message was a little more than cryptic!"

"Gonzalez did something...I don't know what, but...come _on!_ " Fitz growled, almost yanking Coulson off his feet.

Since when did Fitz become a sprinter?

Before they even got half way down the hall, Coulson realized they weren't going towards the medical wing. They weren't even headed towards Ward's new quarters.

They were headed straight for detention.

 _Inhuman_ detention.

And he could smell brimstone and smoke.

"What the...how long were we gone?" Hunter asked, easily keeping pace and now all three were running.

"Only an hour...what could go wrong in an hour?" Coulson cursed.

Fitz took a corner so fast that he practically skidded around it, and they ran almost face first into a heavily armed guard.

Armed, but instead of combat gear, was wearing...was that _firefighting_ gear?

"What the hell is going on?" Coulson demanded when the sentry blocked their way.

"The prisoner turned out to be an Inhuman, sir. Director Gonzalez gave orders to contain it."

Coulson took a steadying breath, fully prepared to point out that _Gonzalez_ was _assistant_ director, not _The_ Director of SHIELD and -

Hunter's punch caught the sentry off guard under his chin, knocking him out cold.

Coulson turned to glare at him. "Really?"

"I'm an independent hired thug. I can do things like that," Hunter reminded him. "And Fitz is getting away."

The closer they got, Coulson could feel the temperature spike – not just a few degrees, either. Like they were running into an oven.

And what the _hell_ was that sound?

Over the yelling, which there seemed to be a lot of from a lot of people, there were short bursts of something that sounded like…a flame thrower?

They were in the lower hangar bay, which until recently was used to house the much larger aircraft that weren't in current use. They started converting it into a temporary holding area for unfriendly Inhumans that needed a secure area, both for them and for the safety of the other agents, but right now it looked more like a war zone.

At least fifteen guards, none of who Coulson immediately recognized, which he mentally made a note to discuss with Gonzalez, gathered in a loose circle, partially blocking his view and the hallway.

"Move!" he ordered, shouting to be heard above the noise, and two of them separated just enough for him to squeeze through until they saw Fitz next to him.

"He's not allowed in here," one said, gesturing towards the engineer.

"Fitz? Since when?" Coulson demanded. "He's an agent just the same as the rest of us."

"Director Gonzalez's orders. He's not to go near the target."

"Coulson!"

He managed to turn just in time to catch Skye, followed closely by May.

Both of them were in full battle gear, Skye with her gloves and May...well, May never really took off her field clothes.

"Let them through," May ordered, and when the sentry looked like he was about to protest, she leveled a glare at him that would've melted stone. " _All_ of them."

Without waiting for an invite, Fitz shoved his way past the guards.

"What the hell is going on?" Coulson demanded.

"Ward," May answered.

"He's an Inhuman!" Skye said, then winced. "I think? Not like me and Lincoln, but..."

"Like the Twins," May explained.

Coulson felt like he'd swallowed lead, and it was sitting heavily in his gut. Before he could ask for anything else, May suddenly pulled him down as everyone around them ducked.

A geyser of flame shot over their heads, so hot that Coulson's cheeks and hands singed red like a mild sunburn.

Oh no.

Coulson spun to look back over the group of guards that were a second ring around the floor of the hangar bay, and felt his stomach plummet.

Ward was in the center of the smaller circle, both hands restrained by what looked like military grade catch poles around each wrists, pulled so tight it was tearing the skin. Blood ran down his forearms, and he'd obviously taken a blow to the face at one point, considering his lip was split and his left eye starting to darken with bruising. His once dark eyes now looked like they were smoldering embers, but maybe that was a trick of the light.

None of that compared to the sight of Ward's hands _literally_ on fire, and judging from the lack of agonizing pain that usually came from having your skin on fire, he was the one generating it.

Incandescent with rage suddenly had a new, and very literal meaning.

One click glance around and Coulson could guess what had gone wrong – they'd been trying to put Ward back into containment, and he'd resisted. And if judging by the level of anger, they'd tried simple brute force, completely forgetting who they were dealing with.

Ward survived being shot four times point blank in the chest. He'd navigated his way to Fury's secret base with fractured bones without real complaint. He'd survived HYDRA's science lab.

It was going to take more than an ICER to take him down for long.

"May, SITREP, now."

"Gonzalez took Ward in for questioning while you and Hunter were gone. Said he wanted to get Ward's half of the story about Zola and the lab, but Bobbi said he was on a witchunt, and he seemed to know a lot more about Ward's family than even Ward himself. He knew exactly what buttons to push, and when he mentioned interrogating Fitz, Ward lost it. Went after Gonzalez and suddenly he could do _that_." May gestured towards the scorch marks. "When Gonzalez ordered him escorted to the holding area, Ward resisted, and when the guards attempted to subdue him. Ward has even less control of whatever the hell this is than Skye did when she got her powers."

Oh good. Because having limited control over telekinesis was bad enough, now they have a pyrokinetic with rage problems with _no_ control.

But there was something...off about the whole set up. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Why were there so many people? And why was it taking fifteen people to try and physically drag Ward to containment? He still hadn't recovered completely, and he'd had months without a lot of physical activity. This shouldn't be that hard, no matter who it was...well, unless it was Banner, but that was a separate issue.

"Where's Fitz?" Hunter suddenly asked, looking around.

Oh shit.

"Do you see Gonzalez?" Coulson asked, and his agents shook their heads. "Find him. _Now_."

This wasn't standard protocol gone haywire. This was _theater._

"Boss?" Hunter questioned.

"Gonzalez knows about Fitz and Ward. This is him trying to prove it," Coulson said, trying not to appear too panicked as he pushed his way through the crowd.

They didn't have to look far for Fitz.

* * *

Fitz shoved his way through the crowd until he'd made his way through the final circle, stumbling to a halt when he finally got his first good look at Ward since this disaster started.

His bad leg was shaking visibly, even as he pulled against the catch poles, bracing with both his feet as he resisted being pulled forwards. The darkening bruise around his eye highlighted the unnatural brightness to them, and blood was beginning to drip freely to the floor, enough that he started to slip.

"Ward!" he shouted, trying to get his attention above the noise of the crowd.

Either Ward couldn't hear him, or he was ignoring him completely.

 _Please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me_...he chanted mentally to himself, and then before he could think better of it, shot both handlers with the ICER pistol he'd lifted from one of the guards. They dropped without a sound to the ground, and the sudden release of pressure on his arms made Ward stumble and almost fall backwards.

You could've heard a pin drop in the sudden quiet. He could hear the other guards shifting their weapons, no longer solely pointed at Ward, but at both of them now. But he ignored them.

Nothing else mattered, except getting his friend to calm down.

" _Grant_ ," he finally tried, and Ward's head finally turned towards him.

"Fitz?"

"You _have_ to calm down," Fitz said, holding both his hands up. He'd dropped the ICER by his feet, unwilling to use it on Ward. "You're burning up way too much energy, and I don't know what this is doing to you. You're already going into shock."

Ward glanced down at his hands, wrists still encircled by the wire rope. They shook violently, but the flames remained, though slightly tempered. Instead of raging inferno, it was more like an enthusiastic campfire. "I'm not going back to the Vault," he said defiantly, looking up again.

The glowing embers in his eyes flashed dangerously, and Fitz realized he was still only one wrong move away from turning back into the human flamethrower.

"No, you're not," Fitz said firmly. "Coulson is back. You're not going to the Vault, you're not going to holding, but you can't burn the place down, either."

Ward shook his head. "I c-can't turn it off."

"You're still feeling threatened. But Ward, _you're not going back to the Vault_ ," Fitz said. "I won't let you, and neither will Coulson or Hunter. I think you even won over Bobbi, and how many people are willing to go against _her_?"

There was a thin ghost of a smirk, but Fitz would take whatever victory he could get. He took a step forwards, but Ward backpedaled so fast he almost tripped over the pole.

For a moment, Fitz wondered why Ward hadn't taken them off, until he saw just how far they'd cut into his wrists. He probably _couldn't_ take them off.

"Stay back!" Ward said, probably intending it as an order. But Fitz could see the desperate plea in is eyes, a warning to stay away.

"I'm not going to let them take you away," Fitz promised quietly. "Don't you trust me?" It took every ounce of willpower not to _tell_ Ward to trust him, not because Fitz wanted to use the controller, but because he had to remember not to make anything sound like a command. He needed Ward to understand, to trust him without being ordered to.

Ward looked torn, and Fitz felt a stab of guilt. Up until recently, there wouldn't have been a hesitation.

Fitz took another step forwards, and Ward took another step back.

He could hear the crowd muttering to themselves. Why was a trained assassin backing away from a lab monkey?

"Are you afraid of me?" Fitz asked, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible. He didn't need to have half of Gonzalez's private army listening to every word.

Ward shook his head, eyes flicking nervously towards the crowd, but they had oddly enough stayed back.

"Of them?" Fitz asked, gesturing towards the guards.

Ward again shook his head.

"Then why do you keep stepping back?"

To prove his point, Fitz took another step forwards and once more, Ward mirrored him and took a step back. This time his leg almost gave out underneath him, but he managed to remain upright.

"I don't want to hurt you," Ward said, and Fitz could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Even in the few short minutes he'd been talking to Ward, he'd watched the specialist's energy fade, even as the fire remained. But fire consumed energy just as surely as it created it, and Ward was damn near suicidally obstinate. He'd been on the defensive so long Fitz wasn't even sure Ward knew how to surrender. It just wasn't in his nature. But the energy that supplied the flames had to come from somewhere, and right now, Fitz strongly suspected it was actually coming from Ward himself. The longer he remained in Hellfire mode, the paler he became, the harder it was for him to stand.

"I don't think you will," Fitz said, and took another step forwards. He watched Ward move to take another step back but stopped mid step when his leg shook so bad he couldn't put his weight on it.

"You can't know that," Ward protested.

Fitz shrugged. "I don't. But I know _you_."

They were only a few feet apart from one another, and despite the fact that half of the Playground was watching them, Fitz's world had shrunk to just him and Ward.

"I don't want to go back to being in a cage, Fitz," Ward whispered. "Just for once...I want to be _free_."

"You will. There's more than one kind of free, Ward, and right now, the freedom you have is what you do with what's been done _to_ you," Fitz said quietly. He held out his hand, palm up towards Ward. "And I don't think you'll choose to hurt me."

Before Ward could move away from him, Fitz grabbed his hand.

And just like that, the fire was gone.

Ward sagged forwards and would've fallen face first into the concrete if Fitz hadn't caught him. Ward might not have been particularly heavy anymore, but he was still six inches taller and more than a little unwieldy.

Fine muscle tremors shook his thinned frame, and Fitz could feel the heat fading quickly under his skin even as he gently pulled the catch wire from his wrists. The poles dropped to the ground with a clatter, and freed of the weight on his arms, Ward tried to hold himself up with numbed limbs.

Worse than awkward attempts to support himself was the constant and near delirious litany he whispered, his chin digging painfully into Fitz's shoulder as he held him upright.

" _Help me_."

"We will," Fitz swore quietly, "I promise we will," as Coulson, Hunter and May pushed through the crowd.

Coulson looked furious, but not like he was angry at them in specific. He'd had that same look on his face when he was relating how Hand had sent them into Ossetia without an extraction team. He was angry _for_ them, not _at_ them.

"Can we move him?" Coulson demanded. "Or do we need to get a med team down here?"

Fitz shook his head as best he could, because adding more people to this was only going to make it worse. He wasn't even sure how aware of everyone Ward really was, or if he'd even let go long enough to be put on a stretcher.

"Simmons says she has the lab ready - " May started, but anything after that Fitz didn't hear.

He _knows_ she meant the medical ward area that Skye had been in when she was first learning about her powers, but she picked the worst word choice available.

Suddenly Ward was pushing himself back up, uncoordinated and without any real strength, but worse, Fitz could _feel_ the sudden spike in the heat of Ward's skin, even through both layers of clothing between them. He could feel the erratic beat of Ward's heart soar dangerously towards tachycardia and panicked, the only thought in his head to keep Ward from making his own heart explode.

" _Sleep_ ," he hissed fiercely into Ward's ear, and Ward dropped like a stone, out instantly. Fitz would've dropped him if Hunter hadn't darted forward and grabbed Ward's other arm, helping to hold him up between the two of them.

Just as quickly as he said it, he regretted it. Ward made it abundantly clear that using commands even to save his life was unforgivable, and he'd now done it twice in one day.

Even after he promised not to.

He'd worry about the level of Hell he was bound for later.

From the lack of reaction from May, she either hadn't heard him, or didn't understand what she just saw.

But one look at Coulson, and Fitz knew that he _understood_. Understood what he saw, and what it meant, and something else. Something that took a minute for Fitz to recognize.

Coulson was very, very afraid.


	28. Chapter 28

"How're they doing?" Bobbi asked quietly. She handed a steaming cup of tea to Hunter and took the seat next to him.

Hunter didn't answer right away, instead blowing softly on his drink. He'd been sitting outside the hospital room since he and Fitz had dragged an unconscious Ward in several hours ago.

"He's sicker than when we found them back at HYDRA's lab," Bobbi observed. She held her own drink, untouched, in her hands. It was nice to have _something_ to hold on to, to give her hands a job to do other than twitch uselessly. "Isn't he."

Hunter nodded carefully. Ward was burning up a fever higher than a normal thermometer would go – it just read "error" on the tiny screen, as if not even the machinery could make sense of what was going on.

It wasn't the only one having problems.

Nothing about this made sense. Ward had been involved with SHIELD for years, HYDRA affiliation aside, and _no one_ recalled anything remotely close to seeing him burst into flames. Ward had a history of _arson_ , that was well documented enough. Hell, there was even national news coverage on CNN from when he burned his parents and his older brother. But everything about those fires suggested nothing more supernatural than gasoline or a rigged gas line and a lit match.

They looked up his medical records – his DNA was as normal as the next person. No Inhuman DNA trackers, no gene splicing they could see.

This 'Hellfire' thing was either a very recent development or one of the greatest acting performances ever given.

Not a whole lot of people were hedging their bets on the acting.

"Has he moved?" Bobbi asked.

Hunter sighed, scrubbing a tired hand over equally tired eyes. "Depends on how you look at it. He hasn't gone anywhere, but he's a million miles away. Just look at him, Bob. What does that look remind you of?"

Bobbi glanced back at Fitz and Ward, shoulders slumping as she realized what her ex-husband meant.

Ward wasn't really awake or asleep, instead caught on what looked like the edge of a waking nightmare. Despite the blankets heaped on top of him, he continued to visibly shiver. Worse, perhaps, was the blistered red skin spreading from his hands to almost his elbows, because even semi conscious Ward held them outstretched over the side of the bed so they didn't touch anything.

But even as bad as Ward looked, it was somehow not nearly as awful as Fitz. Maybe it was because all of them were closer to Fitz than Ward. More likely it was because at least they could see what was wrong with Ward.

Fitz, on the other hand, looked healthier than he had in months...until you looked at his face, and realized nothing was looking back.

It had been hours since the hanger bay fight. Hours since he'd calmed Ward enough to put out the flames.

Hours since Fitz's connection to the here and now frayed and snapped.

It hadn't even occurred to the team they should be careful how they reacted. Fitz had seemed so completely calm and in control as he talked Ward down. Even upon arriving in medical. But they all forgot they weren't dealing with someone who was sick.

As soon as Hunter and Fitz dragged Ward into the hospital room, it seemed like suddenly everything hit high speed. There were doctors and scientists that Hunter couldn't ever remember seeing when Ward and Fitz were recovering the first time. They wanted blood samples, skin samples, spinal taps and brain scans. They wanted everything, and they didn't seem interested in asking first.

That was when the first fine threads started to fray.

When they tried to force Fitz from the room, even as Ward started to come to, that was when things started to spiral wildly out of control.

Because suddenly, Ward and Fitz weren't in SHIELD's medical wing anymore. They were back in their shared nightmare of laboratory experiments, and too late Hunter remembered a long ago conversation with Fitz about how bad things happened when they were separated.

The medical staff were not prepared for the abrupt return of the fire – and apparently neither was Ward, because instead of being harmless, the flames did just as much damage to himself as it did anyone else. They were only back for a moment – barely the blink of an eye, but the damage was done. And just as suddenly, Fitz turned and bit down hard enough to split skin and draw blood from the medical staff that was trying to hold him back and they let go out of reflex.

Fitz was a dirty fighter. But he was effective. A few well placed strikes that Hunter was happy to say he'd taught the young man, and the scientists, all apparently under Gonzalez's command, retreated out of the room before Fitz could do permanent damage.

Hunter and Bobbi kept them out.

The reaction to the medical staff was bad enough, but to Hunter, and he strongly suspected Bobbi felt the same, the worst part of it was watching through the glass as Fitz tried again and again to reach Ward and pull him back from wherever he was.

Because it was obvious how many times Fitz had done this before.

It was second nature. It was reflex. Fitz didn't approach Ward. He didn't touch him. He simply spoke. He didn't raise his voice, he didn't become panicked or desperate. Hunter couldn't hear him, he was speaking so softly, but Ward obviously could. It took several minutes – long, painful minutes, but Ward finally responded. He'd all but collapsed on Fitz, quaking like he was going through the stages of hypothermia, and Fitz had at least been able to steer him onto the bed before they both hit the floor.

Fitz didn't ask for help. He didn't ask for medical supplies. He didn't speak again to Ward, who was curled up on his side, his head practically in Fitz's lap, cheeks suspiciously damp. In fact, all he did was absently trace patterns across Ward's scalp, occasionally humming to himself, and staring off a million miles away.

"So that's what happened in the lab," May had observed quietly when she came to check on them. She hadn't stayed long. Hunter could tell she was still warring over her own feelings of betrayal against Ward, trying to correlate the sociopathic double agent she knew with the horribly broken prisoner of war in front of her.

Suddenly, the attachment to each other made sense. The mystery of how Ward and Fitz went from bitter enemies to dangerously inseparable was solved.

And they were all right back to square one.

Bobbi sighed, and leaned into Hunter's shoulder. "He looks like the walking wounded."

"How could we just... _forget_ the last couple of months?" Hunter said irritably. "We didn't even stop and think how close this had to be to what they already went through. I think we even managed to make it worse, and I didn't think that was possible."

"We were worried," Bobbi pointed out.

"I know," Hunter sighed, scrubbing a hand through his short hair. "But look where it got us." He gestured towards the two friends.

Bobbi was quiet, sipping her coffee, before she spoke again. "Actually, I need your help with something."

"Please tell me it involves punching things. Because I really, _really_ want to punch something. Or someone."

"Coulson sent me down here because they do _need_ samples to work with if we want to be able to help them. Jemma is a little too afraid of Ward to go in there, she thinks she'll just set him off again. She wants to help, but she's going to do it from the lab. I'm sort of neutral – I think. At least, I don't think I'm an enemy. I just want you to talk to Fitz to see if we can get samples from the both of them."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Both of them?"

"They're not ruling at the idea that maybe while in Zola's lab, they did some tinkering with Fitz's DNA too. They just want to make sure _he's_ not going like..." she waved her hand. "Spontaneously combust or start shooting lasers out of his eyes or something."

Hunter chuckled. "After watching him go after Gonzalez's goons? It's his teeth I'm worried about."

Bobbi knocked on the glass door of the room, waiting to see if Fitz would even acknowledge them before stepping inside.

The only indication Fitz registered their presence was a slight pause in the pattern he was tracing out against Ward's head.

"Fitz?" she tried quietly. "Can we come in?"

Something about what she said seemed to break through, because Fitz actually looked up, brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's just the two of us," Hunter said, holding up his hands placatingly. "No one else."

He really hoped that Fitz had at least enough awareness that he realized Hunter and Bobbi had been outside the door keeping guard the entire time.

Fitz's features scrunched into a brief frown, and then suddenly blinked rapidly as if he was waking up. "Hunter?"

Hunter heaved a sigh of relief, dropping his hands to his side as he came closer. "Yeah, mate. It's just me and Bob. How're you guys doing?"

Fitz opened his mouth to answer, but struggled with the words, working it open and closed again without saying anything. He glanced down at Ward, who seemed completely oblivious to anything going on around him.

"Help us," he blurted out. "Please. I promised...but I c-can't."

"We're going to try, Fitz," Bobbi assured, kneeling next to the bed so that she was almost eye level with Ward. She started when she realized he wasn't asleep. Both eyes were cracked to mere slits, but she could see him focus on her as soon as she came into his field of vision.

"Hey, there," she said quietly. "You look pretty rough. Can I take a look?"

Ward studied her for a long moment, sizing her up and trying to guess her motives. Reluctantly, he turned his reddened hands towards her. He still made sure his hands didn't touch anything, especially not each other, but Bobbi could finally see the full extent of the damage.

Both hands, hell, most of his lower arms, were splotched and red and raw. Blisters bubbled up across his skin, pulling painfully tight across reddened knuckles. The severity ranged from mild sunburn to second degree, but thankfully not into third.

"This looks pretty bad, Ward. Is it okay if we do something about them?" Bobbi asked, carefully turning his hands over so she could see the full extent. No white, leathery appearance, no charred spots, no extension below the skin to muscle. All good signs...sort of. The blisters and cracked, dry red skin of the second degree burns looked painful as hell.

Ward didn't answer, but he also didn't pull his hands away.

Bobbi took it as reluctant permission, and set about looking for the dermal regenerator Maria Hill gave them after the success they had using it on the very human members of the Avengers.

"Do you know what happened?" Hunter asked, sitting on the edge of the rolling stool meant for the desk.

Fitz made a face, sneering bitterly. "When?"

"Pick a time frame," Hunter said. "Coulson and I were gone when whatever the hell went down went down, but if you have anything else you want to share, now's a good time."

Fitz shot Hunter a scathing look, but to the mercenary's credit, he didn't apologize.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I can't be delicate about this, mate. There is some very, very serious shit stirring now in the higher ups. Coulson hasn't come out of his office with Gonzalez for hours. If you want us to be able to help, we need to know what you know."

Bobbi frowned as she held up the regenerator, glaring at her ex-husband. "Had I known you were going to suck at this, I wouldn't have asked you in. Ward, can we sit you up? You're at a difficult angle like that."

Ward closed his eyes briefly, but struggled to sit up on his own. With Hunter and Fitz's help, he managed it, even though he hissed a few times as he accidentally hit his hands. Staying up, however, wasn't something he seemed capable of. He weaved back and forth, like trying to balance on a ship before finally half leaning against Fitz's shoulder.

"Better?" he rasped, holding out his hands for Bobbi to see.

"Much."

"Will it hurt?" Fitz asked cautiously as Bobbi flicked the machine on.

Bobbi shrugged. "I never had it used on me, but Barton never complained."

"Barton got thrown through a plate glass window and hardly batted an eye," Ward pointed out.

Hunter and Bobbi turned a curious eye to the specialist, and Ward merely shrugged.

"I was a spy. I spy on people. And I was rooting for the Avengers over alien overlords."

Bobbi smirked. "So you do have a sense of humor."

"When I don't feel like shit, I'm hilarious," Ward deadpanned. "Why am I sick?"

Hunter shrugged, absently watching as Ward's hands stitched and healed over themselves, leaving behind healthy, flushed skin. "That's kind of why we're here."

"You want to run tests, too," Ward sighed, flexing his newly healed hands.

"If you want to know what the hell is going on...yeah," Bobbi said. "We do."

Ward closed his eyes, leaning heavier on Fitz. "What _kind_ of tests?"

"Blood tests for starters," Hunter said. "From both of you."

Ward opened one eye. "Both of us?"

"We need to know what changed, mate. And for all me know, someone dicked around with Fitz's DNA, too. We're just trying to double check now. No one ran any blood panels looking for changes in your DNA when we first recovered you, because we didn't have any reason to. And, to be perfectly honest, we had bigger concerns at the time," Hunter explained.

"Like whether or not you were going to live," Bobbi deadpanned. "And even the blood tests that we took then to see if there was any disease or pathogen you had, there wasn't any indicators of Inhuman DNA."

"And no one took a second look at Fitz's results, except to see whether or not he was sick, too."

Ward frowned. "Just so you know – you guys _suck_ at situational awareness."

Hunter jerked his thumb at Bobbi. "Blame her. I'm hired muscle, not hired brains."

Bobbi ignored him, and held out the blood sample vacutainers and syringe. "Are you going to be okay with this?"

"I'm too sick to care," Ward said honestly. And he looked it, too. Fever bright eyes, sweat dampened hair, and pale complexion highlighted with the flush of fever across his cheeks and his neck, and judging from the faint tremors, he was still cold. At least it was now likely more from sickness than shock.

Bobbi wrapped a piece of rubber banding around his arm, just above his elbow, and realized just how easy it was to see the blue veins underneath almost translucent skin.

"Make sure you look for anything that his system is going to be attacking," Fitz said. "Anything that's so new it's being recognized as a threat."

"You think the Hellfire thing is like a virus?" Bobbi asked. She considered it for a moment, then nodded her head slowly. "I suppose it would make sense if it was like a virus instead DNA manipulation. Or maybe it's like a form Terrigen?"

"Or my mother was seriously fucked in the head and did exactly what Zola did to Barnes – leave a latent formula behind that no one is going to recognize and has to be activated," Ward snapped. "Stop talking like I'm not here. I heard what Gonzalez said. She wasn't creating Inhumans, she was creating _weapons_."

Fitz huffed. "I'm not ignoring you. But you're not running the blood tests either, so there's no point in telling you what to look for, is there?"

"Since when did you become a biologist?"

"Jemma has been my best friend for a decade. Some of that rubs off, you know."

Ward hardly noticed when Bobbi, taking advantage of the distraction Fitz provided with their bickering, slid the vacuette needle under his skin.

"Ward, I need you to clench your hand," Bobbi said, noting the slow flow.

Ward didn't hear her, and continued arguing with Fitz, and now Hunter had joined in too.

"If that was true, she'd be better at machines," Ward pointed out.

"Maybe I'm just smarter than her," Fitz shot back.

"I'm telling her you said that," Hunter said, smiling broadly.

"Ward -" Bobbi tried again.

"Don't you dare," Fitz said.

"What are you going to do to stop me?"

"Knowing him? Gnaw on you."

"I'm not a bloody gerbil!"

" _Grant_!"

In fairness to Bobbi, no one had any idea the reaction to his first name would be any different. Not even Fitz, because no one had every actually referred to Ward as Grant his entire time in SHIELD. Not even Magnus referred to him as anything other than his last name.

Maybe it was just everything combined – the fever, the stories Gonzalez told, the use of his first name.

But as soon as Ward turned to her, his dark eyes fixing on the vacutainer, slowly filling with blood, Bobbi realized something was different.

Something was _wrong_.

"You said you were done," Ward whimpered.

The tone was all wrong, and both Fitz and Hunter immediately picked up on it, stopping instantly mid argument. That didn't sound like Ward _at all_. It didn't even sound like...an _adult_.

"We just started," Bobbi said carefully, not taking her eyes off of Ward's face.

Except he didn't meet her eyes. He looked everywhere but at her, and the longer she kept her gaze on him, the further he shrank away from her.

"You said you were done," Ward repeated. "You said not today."

"What'd you do?" Hunter hissed at his ex, and she shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know. But he's not seeing me."

"You said not today. You _promised_ not today, mom. I didn't say anything to Thomas. I didn't say a word, I _promise_..."

 _Mom_?

"What do I do?" Bobbi hissed, glancing up at Fitz. "How long do his flashbacks last?"

Fitz looked just as lost, and he shrugged. "He's never had one about his mom before."

Bobbi shook her head, and quickly released the rubber band from around Ward's arm, fully intending on stopping the tests until Ward was back from whenever the hell he thought he was, but Ward panicked, suddenly clenching his hand into a tight fist like she'd requested.

"No, no, no, wait mom, you don't have to bring in Angela. It's okay, it's okay, I'll be good. I'll be quiet. I feel better, mom. I don't need Angela." Ward practically thrust his arm into her face, desperation obvious in his pleading. "You can do whatever you want."

"Fitz..." Hunter started, indicating Ward with a nod of his head.

Whatever the hell Hunter was suggesting, Fitz clearly understood, and he was _not_ happy about it.

"No."

"Either put him out, or one of us is going to have to, and if he's somewhere in his head with his _mother_ , how do you think that's going to play out?" Hunter said.

Fitz shook his head. "He won't even remember it when it's over. Just hurry up and finish getting what you need."

"I can come back later," Bobbi said. She gently tried to steer Ward's hand away, but whatever the hell nightmare he was caught in, that was not an option.

"Don't make it hurt," Ward begged. "Please?"

Hunter glared at Fitz who glared right back, and Bobbi made a mental note to beat the story out of the two of them later. Ward didn't even seem to recognize their presence. She made her own tactical decision, and hoped it didn't end _too_ badly.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ward. Focus. I need you to look at me, okay?" she said, pushing his hand back. " _Really_ look."

Ward kept his eyes off of her, only physically moving his head so it _looked_ like he was looking at her.

"Ward," she said, firmly. " _Look_ at me. Tell me what I look like."

Ward stared at her like she'd grown another head, but she could see him fighting to focus on her, even if his eyes kept sliding to the left away from her face.

It took some serious conditioning to make a child avoid looking his own mother in the eye.

"You're blonde," Ward said, frowning. She could see the sudden doubt in his eyes, even if she didn't see any recognition. That awful, child like pain was gone, and the Agent Ward she was familiar with began to reemerge.

"And?" she prompted. She was absurdly grateful that she'd seen the pictures Gonzalez showed to Ward in interrogation – she knew she looked absolutely nothing like anyone in the Ward family, least of all his mother. She'd had the same jet black hair, pale skin and dark eyes as her children, and Bobbi was the complete opposite.

However, instead of looking at her, Ward turned his head to the side, first to the left and then slowly back the other direction.

"He can't see your face," Fitz said quietly. "He did that to me before. He can't tell who you are."

A vague memory of explaining prosopagnosia to the rest of the team months ago came to mind, and Bobbi held up Ward's hand to her face.

"What else can you tell me?" she asked, and she watched Ward close his eyes, even as he swayed dangerously until Fitz caught him. He trailed his fingers cautiously across the profile of her face, pausing at features she knew didn't match up with the image of his mother.

"You're not cold _,"_ Ward said, as if that was definitive proof that she was not Adaline Ward. He paused, frowned, and then pink started to creep up his neck. "Morse?"

"Ward," she said, smiling as he pulled his hand back. "Welcome back."

Ward groaned, and leaned back against Fitz's shoulder, closing his eyes and pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Where did I go?"

"Doesn't matter," Bobbi said, at the same time Fitz answered "your mother's lab."

Ward didn't even bother to open his eyes. "You mean Gonzalez was telling the truth?"

"At least partly," Fitz replied. "You have some seriously repressed shit in your life, Ward. I don't know that you want to go digging around in it."

"On the plus side, you didn't get need to get your brain fried to come out of it," Hunter said with mock cheerfulness.

"It hurts about the same."

"But that's good news, right?" Hunter pressed, and again Bobbi caught him looking meaningfully at Fitz. "It means that thing Zola stuck in your head isn't working anymore, right?"

"No, because I still don't remember _him_ , either."

"It's progress, anyway," Fitz interrupted. "Maybe we can just have that thing removed while you're already in the medical wing."

"Is it bad that I feel sick enough it's the _least_ of my concerns right now?" Ward groaned. "Morse, finish whatever the hell you were doing and then leave me alone to die."

It took less than five minutes to finish the samples, and Bobbi excused herself down to the laboratory to meet with Jemma.

Hunter predictably stayed behind, and as soon as he was positive she was out of ear shot, he turned back to Fitz and Ward.

"What's the deal with your sister, Ward?" he asked.

Ward had almost buried himself underneath the blankets, still shivering from fever. "Don't try and find her, Hunter."

"Does she know more than you do about what's happened with your mother?"

"Do we have to do this now?" Fitz protested.

"Yeah, actually we do. Because Gonzalez knows something's up with her, or he wouldn't keep mentioning her, and even you said HYDRA would've preferred to get a hold of her instead of you. So what's the deal with Angela?" Hunter asked again. "Why _her_?"

"Did Gonzalez already start the search?" Ward asked, voice muffled.

"Probably," Hunter said. "Which is why I want to know what to expect."

"Then you don't have long to wait. She'll be here soon enough, and then you can ask her yourself. Angela doesn't like it when people look for her, and she always knows when they do," Ward grumbled. "Can we _please_ be left alone?"

Hunter sighed, but he wasn't really all that surprised at the dismissal. "If anyone tries to take you back to holding, _call_ one of us, yeah? Don't...explode into flames or anything."

Ward said something not very nice, and as Fitz smirked but gave a halfhearted thumbs up.

It would have to do.

As soon as Hunter was gone, Fitz pulled up his chair to Ward's bedside, pulling almost even to him. "You remember more, don't you?"

Ward sighed, closing his eyes. "Sort of."

"Why Angela? Why would you be more afraid of your sister than your mother?"

"Because," Ward said, grimacing. "She was her only real success."


	29. Chapter 29

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Coulson demanded, resisting the urge to punch his co-director in the face. "I leave for half an afternoon, and when I come back, you're trying to arrest one of my agents, you've worked one up to almost a nervous breakdown, my hangar bay looks like a dragon got loose in it, and suddenly there's at least twenty new agents I don't recognize and definitely didn't sign off on!"

Gonzalez sat back in his chair, folding his hands passively across his stomach. "Agent Weaver and I thought we should replenish the ranks, what with the amount of Inhumans we've been finding. You seemed otherwise occupied."

Coulson fought the urge to throw something, counted to ten, then fifteen when that didn't work, and slowly unclenched his hands. "So you what, went and raided HYDRA's survivors? Or is there some sort of mail order hired muscle magazine I don't know about?"

"Said the man who hand picked one of HYDRA's top operatives for his special team," Gonzalez said calmly.

"I didn't pick my team," Coulson said, but didn't finish the protest. Somehow, ending it with 'Fury and May did' didn't make it any better.

"Exactly. We're not in a position to be choosy, Coulson. I need people with experience dealing with enhanced people, Inhumans, and who the hell knows what else that might show up on our doorstep. I picked the best candidates that I could find. At least they obey orders," Gonzalez said. "Unlike _some_ agents I could name..." He glanced meaningfully over the rim of his glasses, and Coulson had to remind himself again that punching people in the face was not a good diplomatic approach.

Abandoning the current hiring issue, Coulson pressed forwards. "What the hell did you do to Agent Ward?"

Gonzalez raised an eyebrow. "Oh. He's back to being an agent?" he said mildly. "Forgive me. It's hard to keep track of who's an operative and who's an escaped fugitive."

"Get off your goddamned high horse, Gonzalez. You know damn well the situation has changed," Coulson growled.

This time, the older man smiled. "Yes, it has. For the very first time, we have an actual weapon at our command that we can actually use."

"At our command?" Coulson echoed. "This is Grant _Ward_ we're talking about. He's unreliable at best and unstable at worst. We don't even know _what_ he is! I don't think even _he_ does! And you want to throw him back into the field? He just _literally_ exploded into flames and almost incinerated the hanger bay!"

Gonzalez waved a dismissive hand. "Keep Agent Fitz with him and we won't have an issue."

Fortunately, angry as he was, Coulson wasn't blinded by it and neatly sidestepped the insinuation that Fitz was anything more than a trusted ally to Ward. "Fitz isn't a field agent. He's gone out twice and it ended badly both times, and both times, it was _Ward_ who got him out of it. And he's not exactly cleared for duty anyway. Putting two mentally unstable people into the field is out of the question."

"You have Skye out there actively recruiting. Daisy, Skye, Tremors...whatever the hell she goes by now, and you want to get picky about the two we at least _know_ what's wrong with them?"

"And _what_ exactly do you think they're going to do?" Coulson demanded. "Ward has no idea how to use his abilities, and I'm not even sure he _can_ without causing himself damage. Did you see what happened down in the hanger? He burned up so much energy he collapsed. How is that any help in a fight? Unlike Daisy, he has pretty much _zero_ people skills. He's a good actor, but even he couldn't fake empathy, so we can't even send him out with her trying to find Inhumans! Fitz can't even relate to his best friend anymore, and if you ask him anything more demanding than 'go get that' he's more likely to throw something at you than get whatever it is you asked him for."

Gonzalez shrugged indifferently. "I'm not suggesting we put them out _tomorrow_ , Agent Coulson. I'm just saying we need to have some end goal for the two of them."

"A goal that apparently involves turning Ward into an Inhuman. How did you even know what would happen?"

Gonzalez smiled. "Unlike you seem to believe, I actually look into the backgrounds of the people on our Most Wanted list. And on that list was Dieter Zola. I did a little digging, and I found the connection between Zola and Adaline Ward – the mother of one of our best specialists, Grant Ward, and one of HYDRA's top fugitives, Angela Ward. I knew what Zola's grandfather did, what his father did – and I knew what Adaline did before she retired. But people like that? _Monsters_ like that? They don't just _retire_ to the quiet life and become the Kennedys. I knew there had to be something else going on that somehow everyone else missed."

"We knew the connection between the two of them," Coulson pointed out. "I'm trying to figure out how the hell you knew what Ward could do."

Gonzalez shrugged. "I wasn't entirely positive, to be honest. All of Adaline's records show her conducted research on her children, but nothing concrete. All I could find was what she was intending. She confirmed nothing. Or, someone had the end results destroyed. _Zola_ on the other hand, kept meticulous records. After you arrested him and SHIELD went through the HYDRA base's lab, I found his notes. Apparently, Adaline lay the groundwork for future experiments when she realized that the advances of her time were limited. If Ward hadn't killed her, and if HYDRA hadn't collapsed, Grant Ward would be right back under Zola's care. The only reason he wasn't at the time of collapse was because Garrett had gone off on his own little side plan that HYDRA didn't approve."

Coulson's jaw dropped in shock. Gonzalez _knew_ what the Wards did to their children? "When did you discover this?" he asked, clenching his hands into fists so hard his nails bit into his palms.

"Around the time Ward was assigned to your team. Well, a little before that, actually. I knew Adaline worked for HYDRA in her youth, but SHIELD in it's less finer moments didn't much care about the company it kept. When I first started looking into the family was after the first time Grant set fire to his parents' house with his older brother still inside. I didn't really know what I was looking at – a sociopathic offspring of a HYDRA head? Or perhaps his hatred of his family was a reasonable recruitment speech." Gonzalez paused. "Sending Garrett was a poor choice, admittedly. But I didn't know about his extracurricular activity at the time, or I would've sent someone else."

Coulson's jaw ached where he was grinding his teeth together. "That still doesn't explain how you knew what Ward was capable of. Or _why_ he was capable of it only now. I have to believe that if the Hellfire project was in use when he was recruited, we would've noticed something in his medical entrance exams."

"He's not an Inhuman, if that's what you're thinking. That's not how HYDRA does things. Terrigen is a newly discovered element, and considering the Wards' research in eugenics, I can tell you the likelihood of them having any unknowns in their pedigree is slim to none. Their tendencies ran more towards gene splicing and manipulation through science rather than magic aliens." Gonzalez stood, turning his back towards Coulson and looking out the window. "After we raided the laboratory where Agents Ward and Fitz were held, we found Zola half dead in the rubble. Apparently, your non-violent engineer shot him at almost point blank range while making their escape. I saw an opportunity and I took it – spare Zola's life, and he would tell me everything I wanted to know."

"Ward's abilities didn't show up until now because he _didn't have them_ ," Coulson breathed, realization dawning. "It was _Zola's_ experiments that finally succeeded where his mother failed, wasn't it? That's why HYDRA had such an elaborate plan to capture him once he went rogue, isn't it?"

Gonzalez turned, smirking. "Science finally caught up to the vision of Adaline Ward."

Coulson sat down. Hard. How did no one but Gonzalez see _any_ of this? Did _Fury_ know? A dark thought crossed his mind – maybe that was exactly why Fury wanted Ward on his team. Why he wanted him in SHIELD in the first place. Maybe it was because he knew, knew what the Ward children went through, and decided to sit back and see how it developed.

Was it any harder to believe than the idea that Fury at one point agreed with Alexander Pierce's peace plan?

Or that using unknown alien technology and who knew what else to raise him from the dead was a good idea?

Coulson was beginning to understand Ward's reluctance to believe that HYDRA and SHIELD were different agencies.

"You recruited him out of prison so he would never wind up in HYDRA's ranks. You knew he had issues with authority, so you gave him one that was brutally honest in what he wanted and expected of him so he would have a handler right off the bat. You wanted the Hellfire project for yourself...but you needed a way to keep him that way. If Garrett hadn't turned out to be such a separatist nut job, it would've worked." Coulson gave a short, mirthless chuckle. "My God...that's _brilliant_."

And absolutely sick.

And totally, completely, _never going to happen_.

"What the hell do you plan on doing with him now?" Coulson asked incredulously. "He's more of an unknown now than before."

"He's unstable."

"No shit," Coulson said.

Gonzalez rolled his eyes at the comeback. "Not just psychologically, Coulson. Zola's drug therapies were effective, but he didn't get a chance to complete them. It's why Ward's Hellfire capabilities put a physical drain on him, why he can't truly control them or keep them from damaging himself, too."

"What's your point?"

Gonzalez turned around, now completely facing Coulson, and both hands supporting himself on his cane in front of him. "My point is Agent Ward is a survivor. We offer him that chance, in exchange for his services."

Coulson damn near hit the ceiling. " _What_?! Are you out of your fucking _mind_? Your plan is to _blackmail_ a human fire storm into working for you? How? Getting Zola to tell you how to complete the treatment? Does _he_ even know what he's doing? Or is your plan to just finger fuck your way through it and hope he doesn't die in the process? You honestly think he's going to _willingly_ go right back to square one of this...this _disaster_? Once he finds out how much you had to do with this, you're going to be lucky if he doesn't set you on fire like his parents – you know, _the last people who experimented on him_."

Gonzalez stayed quiet for Coulson's tirade, waiting for him to take a breath before interjecting. "I think Ward would do anything for that lab monkey of yours. Including and not limited to agreeing to work for SHIELD again, in exchange for our help stabilizing his abilities. You have the best and brightest on your team, don't you?"

Coulson almost choked.

"You think _Fitz_ is going to help?"

Gonzalez remained passive. "I think you're going to convince him it's in his best interests. And those of his friend. I think you're going to convince that lovely biologist of yours to help him in any way she can. I think you're going to make them believe that this is the best thing to do."

Coulson couldn't think of a decent response to that.

Why was SHIELD suddenly filled with delusional psychopaths with delusions of grandeur? He needed to talk to Hill about her screening process.

"And _how_ do you propose I do that?" Coulson demanded.

"By telling them the truth."

"Which is _what_ , exactly?"

Gonzalez leaned forwards on his cane, peering down his nose at Coulson like he was something on the bottom of his shoe. "That I have no need for unstable, physically _or_ psychologically, turncoat agents. That if they don't agree to find a way to stabilize Ward, then I will simply have no choice but to deal with him by some other means. Not to be indelicate, but Ward has an awful lot of blood on his hands, and if he's not willing to try and work off some of his sins in the service of SHIELD...well, I know people who have been executed for less."

"So, Ward's options are volunteer as a lab experiment with the upside of only being a slave if it's successful, or be executed? And Fitz's is what, to take part in it or same thing?"

Gonzalez waved his hand. "Nothing so dramatic against Agent Fitz. But I don't believe he'll tell you no when you give him the option of helping Ward live, or letting him die. That boy has gone through far too much with Ward to simply give up now. Don't tell it to him like he's experimenting on his friend, explain it's trying to find a way to make sure his new found abilities don't kill him. Then it's not even a lie."

There weren't words in the English language to describe how Coulson currently felt.

Gonzalez wanted to put his two most broken agents right back to the place they found them in. Maybe not directly, but somehow that was worse. That he wanted to him to convince Ward and Fitz that they were being helped when really it was Gonzalez they were helping. And what happened if either one found out?

But on the other hand...Gonzalez didn't look like he was prepared to take no for an answer. If he told Fitz and Ward exactly what the other Director wanted to do, he had little doubt in his mind that instead of letting his friend try and fix the damage done by Zola and Ward's mother, Gonzalez wasn't above a work release program with Zola.

He shuddered inwardly at the thought.

And there was the problem of thanks to his obliviousness to Gonzalez's hiring behind his back, he and his team were vastly outnumbered. May, Bobbi, and Hunter were good, but not _that_ good. He still couldn't be sure if they would side with helping Ward or helping Gonzalez, and that was too big a risk to take.

Subtlety was the key to this game.

"Fine," Coulson agreed. "But I do this my way, or I tell them everything. I don't think Ward is as much of a survivor as you think he is, and I'm not sure you want to take the chance he pulls a wild card and decides he'd rather be dead than your 'agent'."

Gonzalez studied Coulson's face, searching for deceit. Either he didn't see it, or decided it was worth the risk, because he agreed. "Fine. Do it your way. But don't think I won't have an eye on their progress. I have a vested interest in their success. One way...or another."

Coulson could swear he heard the Faust theme in the background and vowed to take a shower as soon as he was out of the office.

As he turned to leave, however, Gonzalez's desk phone rang, and he picked it up.

"This is Director Gonzalez," he said stiffly.

Something interesting must have been said, because suddenly he hit the speaker button.

"Repeat that?" Gonzalez ordered.

"I'm telling you, she looks like Jessica Jane Clement, and she's asking about the prisoners from HYDRA," the voice at the other end repeated. "Do I let her in?"

There was a second voice in the background, but Coulson couldn't quite make out what was being said. He could hear the guard hand over his phone, however, and this time a woman spoke.

Spoke wasn't even the right term. She sounded like a cat, practically purring over the line.

"Hello," she purred. "My name is Angela Ward. Invite me in. You have someone I would like to speak to."


	30. Chapter 30

Angela Ward returned the phone to the guard, smiling sweetly. "Thank you. Step aside."

The guard performed a perfect left facing movement, and his partner followed suit, stepping out of her way.

"And they say chivalry is dead," she said, slipping inside the door. She had no intention of waiting for the Directors to escort her in. She just needed to hear their voices so she could recognize them.

The compound was larger than she would've thought for a supposedly covert spy agency, but given the recent upheaval...covert was the least of SHIELD's concerns. She hadn't planned on making this a long visit, but the comment from the sentries caught her interest. Apparently, she looked an awful lot like someone in custody. Unfortunately, other than knowing what he looked like, they didn't seem to have any other interesting...or useful...information.

Obviously, they didn't have Christian. When she saw the news about the fire and heard his forced confession, she knew it wasn't Christian's doing. That man would win the Nobel Peace Prize before he killed himself, and he was as much a humanitarian as his parents were.

Oh, the things she could be proud of her little brother for…

Thomas wouldn't have drawn the immediate recognition, and more importantly, _no one_ could keep him some place he didn't want to be. Federal custody hardly sounded like a vacation destination. So if they had Grant, which wouldn't be too far a jump in logic, the bigger question was _why_ and _how_.

Hardly anyone bothered her as she strode purposefully through the corridors, smiling to the men and offering a half wave of greeting to the women. No one questioned her, though she could feel eyes on her as she walked. It was almost embarrassing how easy it was to walk around a top secret facility – just act like you owned the place, and no one questioned it. She didn't have a plan in place, but she didn't need one. She would find what she wanted, and she had all the time in the world.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Holy crap," someone said, and the accent more than the words stopped her in her tracks. She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder as she turned.

"Say again?" she said.

"Holy crap," the man repeated. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Sorry. I didn't mean that. Smartass is my first language."

"Oh, that's alright," she said, smiling. "You don't sound local."

And he didn't – he sounded like he was from just outside London proper. He was scruffy for a SHIELD agent, at least compared to the ones she'd encountered. Even Grant remained clean shaven while in their employ, despite complaining how young it made him look, but this one had a five o'clock shadow already.

Hmm. Five o'clock shadow, foreign accent, close cut hair, and the only one to notice her beyond the fact that she existed, even amongst trained agents.

 _Independent party_.

"It's just...you look a _lot_ like a friend of mine," he said, trying not to stare. "Like... _scarily_ a lot."

That peaked her interest. For one thing, he referenced her brother as a friend. "This friend of yours...are they around?"

"Yeah, he's, uh, he's...around," the man said, stepping closer. He shook his head. "Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. But Ward didn't mention his sister looked like she belongs on the Victoria Secret runway. What are you even doing here?"

 _Now that's a change of pace_ , Angela thought idly to herself. _A SHIELD agent with a brain_. Definitely _an independent party._

* * *

Angela Ward was unmistakable. The eerie resemblance was just mind boggling, and Hunter couldn't believe no one else had noticed her in the building.

For one thing, she was drop dead gorgeous. Ward's features never struck him as being effeminate, but they definitely didn't make Angela look masculine – same fine features, sharp angles, dark eyes and midnight hair.

And he wasn't staring at her because she was pretty, which she was. He was staring at her because she looked _hollow_. He'd seen that look in Ward's eyes when they briefly met when he was a recently escaped fugitive. That disturbing sort of emptiness that promised violence was always an option, and blood spilled meant little outside of inconvenience.

"You don't remember me, do you," he said, smiling briefly. He had to look up at her – she even shared Ward's height.

Angela's smile never dimmed, but he was watching her eyes. There was a cold, deadly intelligence to them, and beyond the fact that clearly she and Ward were related, he'd seen them before.

"Basrah, '08. I remember. Didn't you work for SAS back then?" she asked.

"Yeah," he admitted, shrugging. "Needed a change of pace, you know? Little change of scenery. I didn't know you were a Ward though. What were _you_ doing in Basrah?"

Angela waved one delicate hand. "Oh, toppling a corrupt general and his minister, starting an arm's race, and leaving the city wide open for an extremist group. You?"

Hunter shrugged again. "Liberating 200 detainees from a secret prison."

Angela leaned down, putting a hand close to her mouth as she whispered conspiratorially: "Just because _you_ didn't know it was there, doesn't make it a secret."

"Fair enough, I suppose...but that still doesn't explain what you're doing here," Hunter pointed out.

"I was invited. It's not polite to turn down invitations. Especially not when they've been sent out by the Director of SHIELD himself. Or whoever that insufferable suit monkey Gonzalez thinks he is. Last I knew, Phil Coulson ran SHIELD behind the back of Nick Fury. I think I preferred that set up. Any chance of going back?"

"Coulson is still the Director," Hunter said. "And actually, so is Fury."

Angela frowned. "So there's _three_ of them?" She put one delicately manicured hand to her lips, tapping them thoughtfully. The pale skin was lined with scars – thin, white lines of varying degrees that criss-crossed over themselves over the years. She may look like a model, but so did Bobbi, and Hunter was well aware of what happened to people who underestimated her, thinking she was just another pretty face.

"You know what else has multiple heads?" Angela said, suddenly smiling. "A _hydra_."

Hunter sighed, scratching the back of his neck. He wasn't entirely sure he liked how many similarities they could suddenly draw between SHIELD and HYDRA. "Yeah...it's been a strange couple of months."

Angela laughed, and it sounded as hollow as she was. "Oh, honey...that's nothing new."

"You said you were invited," Hunter redirected. "Any particular reason?"

"I always take it as a standing invitation for a face to face when people start looking into my whereabouts. I assume that if they're _that_ curious...and that _stupid_...I can give them better answers than Google."

Hunter raised an eyebrow. "So you're here to share intel?"

Angela laughed, and she sounded more like Maleficent than a human being. "Of course not, silly. I came here to kill everyone and burn it to the ground to serve as a warning. But then something the guards said changed my mind."

"And what was that?"

"The same thing you did – that I looked familiar. I don't much look like Christian, and no one has seen Thomas in years, and for some unfathomable reason, Grant always wanted to play for your team. So, Mr. Hunter...where is my dear baby brother?" Angela asked.

"In the medical wing," Hunter answered without pausing to consider if he should really be telling her anything.

Angela actually looked surprised. "Medical wing? Not the Vault? What's he doing there?"

"He's sick. Actually, we don't really know what's wrong with him. Something to do with what your mother did to you as children, and Zola messed around with a couple months ago-"

"Stop right there. _Zola_? Dieter or Arnim?"

Again, he answered without really pausing to wonder whether it was a good idea. The sudden anger in her voice, the knowledge that she apparently knew full well that the elder Zola was as much a possibility as the younger, and the way she suddenly was shoving him up against the wall was more than enough incentive.

"Dieter!" he gasped around the arm pressed against his throat.

"The guards at the front said there were two HYDRA prisoners. Who's the second?" Angela demanded. The fact that she didn't raise her voice was somehow worse than if she'd shouted.

"Leopold Fitz."

Angela frowned at that, and stepped back, dropping her grip on Hunter. Obviously, Fitz was not the name she was expecting.

"Fitz wasn't a HYDRA operative. What's he doing in custody with Grant?" she demanded.

"He was a prisoner of HYDRA and Zola with your brother," Hunter explained, rubbing absently at his throat. He made a mental note not to introduce Angela to Bobbi – either they'd be instant enemies or instant BFF – neither of which sounded appealing. "He's the only one Ward trusts."

Angela cocked her head to one side, and the similarity between her and Ward was almost painful. "Now _that_ is something interesting."

"Angela Ward?"

Both Angela and Hunter turned to see Coulson and Gonzalez, along with at least half a dozen armed soldiers, all with their weapons pointed at Angela.

Angela smirked, and put her hands up. "Your security leaves a lot to be desired, Directors."

There was something off about Angela's behavior as she allowed them to cuff her. For everything that they knew about Angela Ward, she was strangely passive. She didn't put up any resistance at all as they led her away towards interrogation. She was almost pleasant.

None of which seemed remotely characteristic a person who even HYDRA was afraid to find.

It wasn't until she was about to turn the corner, when she turned and looked back at Hunter over her shoulder that he finally understood.

She smiled – a beautiful, empty smile – and _winked_.

Aw, hell…

* * *

"You just _let her in_?" Fitz hissed, as soon as the door closed behind him. "What the hell for?"

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I don't even know. She told Gonzalez to let her in, and he agreed. I didn't even get a chance to argue. At this point, what's one more bad decision?"

Fitz's jaw dropped, and it looked like he was about to go off on a tangent, but Coulson cut him off before he could get started.

"Look, Fitz, she refuses to talk to anyone but you. So if you want to know anything, then you're going to have to come down to interrogation."

Fitz crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "And how the hell did she even know I bloody existed?"

Coulson had the decency to look at least moderately ashamed. "She asked about Ward, and I told her you were the one to ask, and then she said you were the only one she'd speak to. She hasn't said a word since."

Fitz glanced back at the medical wing behind him. Ward was sleeping, fitfully, but sleeping, head buried under eight layers of blankets and pillows. Hunter was sitting in Fitz's recently vacated chair, thumbing through an old file of his from back when he was in SAS. He didn't explain why the sudden interest, and Fitz didn't push.

"I don't think this is going to take that long," Coulson said. "You'll probably be back before he even wakes up."

"It's not leaving him that concerns me," Fitz grumbled. "It's going to see his _sister_ that makes me think this is a terrible idea."

Coulson shrugged. "I can't _make_ you go. But at the same time, Fitz, think about it – she's the only Ward still alive that might have _some_ insight about what we're dealing with. She was obviously subjected to the same treatment as Ward, but she hasn't had nearly the amount of recent trauma that he has. Hell, from what you described from his reaction to her, she probably had a hand in it."

Fitz frowned. "You're not making this sound any better..."

"Strangely enough, she doesn't seem so bad...a little like Dottie Underwood, but...less serial killer-esque."

"And somehow, you've managed to make her sound even less appealing than Ward did. No, thank you," Fitz said, turning to go back into the room. Coulson's hand shot out, holding the door closed.

"Fitz, you _need_ to come talk to her," Coulson said. There was an odd note of desperation in his voice, and Fitz frowned.

"Why? Why can't you and Gonzalez or _anyone else_ talk to her?" Fitz said. "Just do what you did to Ward on his first day."

"Because she asked for you. She asked me to come and get you, and not to come back without you," Coulson said. He didn't move his hand from the door.

Something in the way he said it, in his bizarre behavior made Fitz curious. He glanced back at the room. "You really think she knows what's going on? Or that she might help?"

Coulson shrugged. "No idea. But she's our only shot at this point."

Fitz sighed. "Fine...but if she turns out anything like Christian, I'm leaving."

* * *

Angela was _nothing_ like Christian.

Christian had the same air about him that most politicians had – obsequious and placating, with an air of being disingenuous about everything that came out of their mouths. Christian was the type of person who smiled and promised everything you wanted while he kept his fingers crossed behind his back.

Angela smiled, but there was something missing. It never reached her eyes, and there was no genuine emotion in her expression.

It was like a shark pretending to be human.

"So you're the one who managed to do what no one else in my brother's entire life could," she said. The way she spoke, her voice lilting slightly as someone who spent many years abroad, came off almost like a purr. "How very interesting...especially since there's nothing interesting about you at all."

Fitz frowned, unsure how to take the remark. "Um. Thanks?"

The corner of her perfect mouth twitched in what one might consider a smirk, but the unsettling emptiness of her stare warped it into a sneer. "You _would_ take that as a compliment, wouldn't you?"

Fitz shrugged rather than answer, and Angela huffed impatiently.

"You wanted to talk to me, yes?" she asked, tapping one perfectly manicured nail against the table top. "So talk. Or I'm going to go about the plan I originally had before I found out you had my brother in custody."

Fitz shook his head, leaning further away from her as she'd leaned forwards. " _I_ didn't want to talk to you at all, actually."

"Pity," she mused. "Your loss. Then who did?" She inclined her head slightly towards the interrogation room window. "The mustached monkey behind the glass? Or the one sitting in here with us?" She smiled at Coulson, who ignored the jab.

"How _did_ you know where to find us?" Coulson asked, before Fitz could reply.

Angela's dark eyes slid over Coulson, but when she answered, she spoke to Fitz as if he'd been the one to ask. "I'm in the business of knowing things. One of the things I like to know about is when someone wants to know about me. Since I don't exist anywhere on paper, the only people who would be looking for me are people I don't particularly want to find me. So I find them first, and then they wish they hadn't looked at all."

"So you're in hiding?" Coulson prompted.

"As much as a wolf hides from sheep, sure," Angela said offhandedly.

"So if you're not in hiding...why do you care if someone is looking for you? Who were you...avoiding, if not hiding from?" Coulson asked.

Angela sighed, lower lip jutting out in a mockery of a pout. "Don't tell me there aren't people in the world you would prefer to avoid, Director. Just because I'm not concerned about my mother's former playmates doesn't mean I want them showing up unannounced on my doorstep. Or interfering with my own operations."

Coulson smiled slightly. "And why aren't you concerned about HYDRA?"

This time, when Angela smiled, there was something there – just underneath the surface, the barest hint of what lay below...like the triangle of a shark fin just above the water.

Fitz fought the urge to shudder. Suddenly Magnus and Zola didn't seem so bad, and Angela hadn't even made a threat. She hadn't really done anything at all.

"Oh, poor, sweet thing...you don't know, do you?" Angela crooned, lilted voice sing songing in the interrogation room. "Grant must not remember either, or I'm pretty sure he would've warned you about inviting me here with butting in where you don't belong."

"Actually, he did warn us. Several times. But he never gave any specifics. Just that it was a poor choice to try and find you."

Fitz actually sat up a little straighter at the comment about Ward's memories, jumping in before Angela could answer Coulson's questions – mostly because he was sure she wasn't going to give an answer anyway. "He says he remembers everything. Even when HYDRA tried to wipe his memories with the Faustus Device, he could still tell the difference between suggestion and his own thoughts. And he's always been aware of things trying to control him – we ran into alien technology that channeled rage, and he _knew_ what it was making him do. Everyone else who picked it up just sort of...gave into it. But he was aware enough to use _it_ instead of letting _it_ use _him_. And then when we ran into another Asgardian who could control men through her voice, he could still resist better than most. But he doesn't remember you. Why?"

Angela rolled her eyes. "My brother's memory isn't what's in question. People make that mistake a lot, though, so don't feel too bad. The Faustus Device...or any other Jedi mind fuckery, won't work on him. That's why he always remembered what they'd try to do to him, or tried to make him in to. But he's still human – and the human brain likes to block out serious trauma."

"He seems to remember your mother and Christian beating the hell out of him well enough," Fitz pointed out, trying not to snap. He could still vividly remember Ward's behavior in the recovery room, fighting against the imaginary demons of his mother and older brother.

Of course, now he was beginning to wonder why he'd never said anything about Angela. The little he did mention made her sound worse than the other two combined, but somehow never made it into his nightmares. That alone was a little concerning.

"Traumatic in our house was a little different than most. Getting our asses kicked, that's not traumatic – that's a Tuesday. Having your mother pin you down to a lab table not a foot away from her vivisected failed experiment while she performed a stereotactic brain biopsy when you were seven... _that's_ traumatic," Angela said, as dismissive as if she was comparing sport statistics in fantasy football.

Fitz had a sudden image of a young Grant Ward strapped down in a chair with the metal head ring casing for a stereotactic biopsy and fought the urge to vomit. It explained why he reacted so badly to the casing for his external fixator on his leg – it must've looked disturbingly similar in his mind.

He didn't even notice that Angela had suddenly turned towards him again, studying him like Jemma studied a new lab specimen.

"I see why Grant likes you," she said abruptly, pulling Fitz out of his thoughts.

"What?"

"You're a lot like him when he was younger. Sometimes I wonder how the hell a monster like Adaline Ward had children like Thomas and Grant. I'm pretty sure it's definitive proof there is no God, or if there is...he is a cruel one."

"You must not think very highly of yourself or Christian then," Coulson said.

"We made sense. Monsters beget monsters."

"You mean sociopaths?" Coulson suggested.

"Intelligent psychopaths, thank you very much. If you're going to profile me, at least make the effort to get the terms right before you insult me. Sociopaths don't know the difference between right and wrong. Intelligent psychopaths know the difference...we just don't care."

"I don't know that Ward falls far from that definition," Coulson said.

Angela's eyes narrowed. "Bite your tongue."

Coulson flinched when he accidentally bit down on the tip of his tongue, tasting copper.

Angela relaxed fractionally, before she forced a smile. "You should watch what you say, Agent Coulson. I tend to take insults to my brother rather personally. A side effect of being twins, I suppose."

"Ward is your _twin_ brother?" Coulson said. "I thought you were his older sister."

Angela's face scrunched up in a look of disgust. "And how do you propose a woman gives birth simultaneously to two children? I _am_ older – it's just by minutes instead of months. I purposely took out our birthdays from most of our records just so we didn't develop any added interest."

Fitz shuddered. Twins didn't have the best luck with Nazis. Ward's references to Josef Mengele suddenly made more sense.

"Does that mean you share abilities?" Coulson asked.

"Last I knew, Grant didn't have any, thus why our mother didn't particularly care for him. All those years trying, and other than being extra defiant, he was a total failure. It's why he was sent away to military school. I think she hoped he would get himself killed and save her the trouble, and even if he didn't – at least a soldier had his uses."

It was easy to mistake the tone in Angela's voice as dismissive, but Fitz had more experience than he would like listening to lies. The deadness in her eyes flickered slightly when she spoke of Ward – which is why Fitz _knew_ she wasn't talking about herself when she described her definition of 'traumatic'. The disregard she had for her mother, hell, even _herself_ was real. But the callousness towards her twin wasn't. It wasn't even that she was lying – she seemed almost to prefer not to talk about him at all. The same way Ward didn't seem to like to talk about her, either.

"He said you were your mother's only real success," Fitz said quietly. "If he was a failure...where did you succeed?"

The smile she gave him was positively radiant, and Fitz understood how she could topple empires with just a glance. "I thought it was obvious?"

"Enlighten us."

And suddenly the smile was anything but radiant, even though she never moved a muscle. It was cold and sinister and Fitz felt like he'd just made the worst suggestion ever. "Ooo, a game of show and tell? Have I mentioned how much I like games? I warn you, Fitz, if I show you what I do, this interview is over. I'll go straight to my brother, and we're going to leave. And I plan to make an exit such as SHIELD will not soon forget."

Fitz didn't immediately answer, and even Coulson turned to look at him questioningly. Angela was coldly brilliant, but like her brother, she didn't lie. She skirted around topics, but when asked directly she tended to be brutally honest.

"You've already showed us, haven't you?" Fitz said, understanding beginning to dawn.

Angela's sinister smile remained perfectly in place, but Fitz knew he was right.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, leaning forwards, elbows on the table. "You didn't fight your way in, even though you obviously could have."

Angela leaned back, tossing her long black hair over one shoulder in a shrug. "I asked nicely."

"You just...asked?" Fitz echoed. "That's it?"

Angela shrugged. "What can I say? I have a great personality."

Fitz shook his head, trying not to smile. "Fine. It's really not that important anyway. Coulson only got me to come here because he suggested you might have some insight as to what's wrong with Ward. Do you remember what your mother did to you?"

"In vivid, technicolor detail," Angela said. "But you'll have to be more specific. The mercenary...Earl Grey, or whatever his name is, he said Grant was sick. Sick how? What happened?"

Fitz shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. No one does. That's the problem. It has something to do with all the mucking around in your DNA that your parents did when you were children. You said Ward didn't have powers, right? Well he sure as shit does now."

Angela's interest was suddenly piqued. "Really, now. And what can my brother do, besides find himself in unfortunate situations?"

"Your mother titled it Hellfire, if that helps," Fitz said. "And it's very recent. He hasn't got any Inhuman markers in his DNA last we checked, but we're running more tests now. He doesn't remember any of the experiments that he went through, not with your mom, and not with Zola, so we don't know what they did, and what we have of their records is incomplete. So what the hell was your mom up to?"

Angela remained quiet for a moment, studying Fitz for an uncomfortably long minute before she sighed, sitting back in her chair, arms folded as well as she could manage with her hands still cuffed to the table.

"What is HYDRA always after?" she asked ruefully. "The next best thing. To them it's shameful to be just human, and not want to be something else. Something better. Something _greater_. My mother was too much of a coward to perform her experiments on herself, and when she struck a deal with SHIELD to be granted immunity because of her impeding motherhood, she didn't have access to all the human lab rats she was used to. My mother became her own version of God, and we became her subjects. And there was no getting away from it. My brothers tried."

"But you didn't?"

"This is always hard for others to understand, but even when I was a child, my mother made sense to me. I understood her, even when I suspect her own husband did not. Why be ordinary, when you could be a god amongst men? And what my brothers never understood, _couldn't_ understand, is that if you didn't fight her every step of the way, it didn't hurt nearly as bad. My mother was a scientist, first and foremost. But a close second was her need to _hurt_."

"So you went along with it so she didn't hurt you," Fitz guessed.

"No one can say I was unobservant," Angela said. "Christian's response was hate – but he couldn't do anything to my mother. So instead he tortured the rest of us. Grant became a martyr – he'd let my mother do anything to him if it meant Thomas was left alone. Most of the damage she did to him was psychological, anyway. Once she figured out he just wasn't going to be what she wanted, she just used him as a control group until he was old enough to be sent away."

"Grant was the only failure?" Coulson asked curiously.

Angela nodded absently. "Pretty much. Christian had his uses, but they didn't amount to much when he was younger since technology wasn't that widespread. But being able to muckity muck around with technology had its uses when election time came around. Or when when banks became electronic. And when crime was solved by computers. He didn't mean much to mom until he was in his twenties. I still have no idea what the hell happened between them to get back in each other's good graces. Maybe it was just publicity since Christian was in politics, and estranged families don't sell. I never asked."

"What about Thomas?"

Angela chuckled. "Poor, poor Tommy...he had the misfortune to be our mother's favorite. I'm sure you noticed there's a huge age gap in the Ward children. When he came along, science was finally starting to get to the point where you could fuck with DNA a little more carefully...and she'd had years of practice with the rest of us. He was exactly what she wanted...and she didn't have to torture him to do it." She paused, frowning. "I hated that little shit. But Grant adored him, so I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Her tone was nostalgic, but Fitz caught the bitterness easily enough. She didn't hate Thomas so much as she hated how Grant felt about him, which he thought was a little odd since she seemed to have no remorse about anything else she described.

"Why didn't Grant like you?" he asked quietly.

And there was the only real emotion Angela expressed in her entire interrogation. She smiled, bitter and sad. "Because I was the one who held him down."

Fitz felt a sudden chill spread through his body that had nothing to do with the recycled air through the vent.

Angela continued, not breaking eye contact with him. "My brother was suffering. He was too kind for his own good, and in spite of all the pain she caused him, all the things she inflicted on him, he still wanted my mother to love him. She was the only one who paid any attention to him, even if it was nothing but bad – I doubt our father could even tell you our names. So as much as I hated Thomas, I couldn't bring myself to do any harm to the one person who could love my brother back."

"You couldn't hurt Thomas, but you could hold your twin brother down for your mother's twisted experiments?" Fitz asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. "Wow. Can't understand why Ward wouldn't want anything to do with you."

At that, Angela actually chuckled. "I learned a valuable lesson about what love meant in our house – love wasn't the absence of hate. Love was making sure the hate hurt less. The only time I ever did anything out of love for my brother ruined him forever."

Angela's voice was almost hypnotic the entire time she spoke, and Fitz felt like he was wading through quicksand trying to piece together the story she said and what he knew of Ward.

"You said Ward's memory wasn't an issue, but people think it is," Fitz said carefully. "But there's something else, isn't there? And it's not that he blocked out traumatic experiences at the hands of your mother, he genuinely didn't remember _anything_ about her lab. You still haven't told us what _you_ do, Angela. What can you do that makes everyone, _including_ your own brother so afraid of you?"

The beautiful woman across from him looked down at her carefully manicured nails, flexing her scarred fingers. "I've given you enough hints, Mr. Fitz. You seem like a smart boy. _You_ tell _me._ "

"Did you really just ask nicely and the guards let you in?"

"Of course. I haven't lied about anything," Angela said. "Yet."

"Have you shown us since you were brought in what you can do?" Fitz pressed.

Angela nodded towards Coulson. "Only on him."

Coulson bristled. "You haven't done anything to me."

"Yes, I have," Angela said, her coy grin back.

"Him, but not me?" Fitz asked.

Angela shook her head. "I can't do anything to you. You're his new Thomas. And I've done enough to him."

Fitz shoved his chair back, away from Angela who's empty smile only grew.

"Oh, I think you've almost got it."

Fitz shook his head. "No, because if that was true, why did you let yourself be arrested?"

Angela wagged a finger at him. "Now, now. That's a different question altogether."

Coulson glanced between the two of them, clearly missing their subtext conversation. "What the hell is she talking about?"

Angela leaned in close, her voice sing songing as she asked, "should I tell him? Or should I show him, Fitz?"

"Tell me _what?"_ Coulson demanded. "Fitz -"

Fitz put both his hands over his face, trying not to laugh at the cruel irony of it. "You didn't mean you held your brother down physically, did you."

Coulson's eyebrows shot into his receding hairline. "You mean..."

Fitz chuckled bitterly. "She's a fucking _psychic_."


	31. Chapter 31

Angela practically squealed with delight, hitting a quick staccato on the table with her open palms. "Right you are, Scottie! Though in context, less psychic, more telepathic."

Coulson stared open mouthed, before his brain caught up with him. "If you're a psychic, why did you let us arrest you? How could this _possibly_ be of any benefit for you?"

Still smiling like an idiot, Angela happily answered. "None whatsoever, Director. Absolutely none at _all_. But I'm mad about games, you see. Perfectly _mad_. And you have to keep on your toes in this one."

"You can't read minds, can you?" Fitz asked, though it was less a question and more a statement of observation. "You really _did_ plan to come here and kill everyone, the only reason why you didn't is someone mentioned we had your brother."

Angela sighed dramatically. "Oh fine, you got me. No, I can't read minds. I'm not a Jedi. I can, however, easily influence them. Especially simple ones." This time the sigh was a happy one. "And there are _so_ many simple minds in government."

Fitz turned to Coulson. "Did you really bite your tongue when she told you to?"

Coulson didn't answer, but the clenching of his jaw was tell-tale enough.

Fitz turned back to Angela. "So if you can influence anyone here, why didn't you? It can't be just because you want to play a game."

"And why not?" Angela asked, a petulant pout settling on her lips. "Don't you like to play games, Scottie?"

Fitz ignored the jabbing nickname. He'd been called far worse. "You're fact finding, aren't you? This is just easier for you, isn't it? Instead of trying to control or influence the entire base, you're trying to figure out which one of us would be the most valuable so you only have to bother with one or two instead of a hundred or more." He paused, considering for a moment. " _Can_ you influence that many people?"

"I can honestly say I've never been moved to try," Angela answered. She suddenly looked him dead in the eye, all traces of amusement gone. "Shall I try it now?"

Fitz shook his head. "I think you'd move mountains, given the chance."

Angela smiled again. "Quite the flatterer, you are."

"At least towards psychos with mind bending powers," Fitz admitted. "But that still doesn't explain what you're still doing here. Do you still plan to destroy the place?"

"Of course," Angela said. "But not right now. And I'm up to keeping an open mind about the future, depending on how a few things play out."

"Such as?" Coulson asked.

"You want to know about Ward," Fitz said. "You actually care about your brother."

Angela shrugged. "Care is a strong word. I'll opt for curiosity. If it's something genetic, I may run into a similar problem in the future. If it's not…I owe him a favor." She leaned forwards, elbows on the table and batting her eyes. "So Mr. Fitz. Director. I have a proposition for you. I'll try and help with Grant if I can. I'll even let you use my DNA for comparative analysis – and I won't even care if you wind up using it in your own research."

"And that would be of use to us because…?" Coulson asked.

"Mine's a complete sequence. No gaps or mysteries to try and work around. I'm the living culmination of 70 years of human experimentation and eugenics. Even if you choose to be altruistic and not use it on some poor sap who you think is going to be the next big thing since Captain America – you will have the complete genetic map of someone who was actually _designed_ for it. All without the pesky, shot-in-the-dark-you-might-die-or-might-get-terrible-human-melting-powers side effects of terrigen. What I'm offering works on anybody – not just some schmuck who shares a family tree with an alien."

"We don't do-" Coulson started, but Angela cut him off, rolling her eyes.

" _You_ might not. But someone here does, or they would've never bothered looking for me. Or, hell, you can use it to reverse engineer something you don't want. I don't care. But here's your chance to prove to me that _you_ do. Without my help, I sincerely doubt that you have any way of curing my brother – either as my mother's Hellfire project or just a regular human being."

"What's your price?" Fitz asked.

"Dieter Zola."

Fitz frowned. "What?"

"You have him in custody," Angela said. "Somewhere in the Vault, I assume. But I want him."

Fitz shook his head. "Zola's dead. He's been dead for months." He remembered shooting him, almost point blank range in the chest as he tried to murder Ward. He hadn't cared enough at the time to make sure he was dead, and he didn't have the bullets to spare to shoot him more than once, once he was down. No one had said anything about him being alive, or finding any other survivors – as far as he knew, it was only him and Ward that lived.

But how many times had Ward himself been shot? Coulson had flat out _died_ and here he was today. Zola senior existed years beyond his natural death as a sentient computer code. Was it really a stretch of the imagination to think that Zola survived something as inconsequential as a single bullet?

"Then you're keeping a corpse as a prisoner in the Vault, which while not out of the realm of possibility, it flirts with the line of absurdity. The guard said you had two HYDRA prisoners. One of which is obviously Grant. The second one, Earl Grey seemed to be under the impression was _you_ , Scottie, but that seems incredibly unlikely since you're here in the interrogation of a potentially hostile detainee and it took very little convincing to get you here. No one else at that lab was worth keeping, therefore Dieter Zola is likely alive and being kept for the same reason you kept his father, and he's likely not here in this building or you wouldn't be surprised at the idea he's alive. Monsters in cages are much more useful than monsters in graves." Angela smiled briefly. "I do wonder why it was a friend who thought of you as the second prisoner. I'm not sure if that's a slight against you, or …" her eyes drifted to Coulson. "Your employer."

Fitz felt his jaw drop, turning to Coulson to protest. Because that couldn't be true. They _wouldn't_ save that monster's life. SHIELD _wouldn't_ repeat history and keep one of the most dangerous men of their time as a consultant again. Not after how President Pierce turned out. Not after the disaster that was the downfall of SHIELD and the rise of HYDRA that decimated their entire existence.

He expected to see denial. That funny little quirk of a grin that meant that Coulson was inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the accusations being flung at him.

Instead, Coulson avoided looking at him. He clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and clenched his hands together. His mouth didn't move – remaining in an impassive line as he glared at Angela from across the table.

"Oh…was that supposed to be a secret?" Angela asked. "Whoops."

And in that brief moment, Fitz understood Ward in a way he didn't realize he _couldn't_ before.

His hands shook, even as he clenched them into fists and felt heat flush through his veins as his vision seemed to darken, focusing in on Coulson. It was _literal_ blinding rage and it came on so fast, Coulson didn't even have a chance to put up his hands in defense as Fitz tackled him, knocking them both to the floor.

"You _bastard_!" Fitz roared, punching Coulson in the face hard enough he heard his knuckles crack and blood spurted from a badly broken nose. "You _kept that freak alive_?!"

Coulson managed to block his next punch, managing to flip Fitz around so he was on the ground, back pressed against the floor with Coulson pinning his shoulders down.

"Fitz, stop!" Coulson demanded, but Fitz ignored the command, and brought both arms up between Coulson's, breaking his hold and this time driving the heel of his hand into Coulson's chin. When Coulson reeled from the blow, Fitz brought one knee up directly into the man's gut, narrowly missing his groin, and used Coulson's falling momentum to roll the two of them in the other direction, this time with him on top and Coulson pinned against the ground.

" _How could you!?_ " Fitz shouted, raining down blow after blow. Fueled by sheer, unadulterated rage, more connected than missed even though Coulson was the superior combatant. Part of it was simply that Fitz's fists were backed by months of barely repressed anger, and an equal part was because Coulson was trying not to strike back, just avoid getting beaten to death.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind, latching onto his raised arm before he could land another punch, but Fitz turned just enough to use his free elbow to land a solid blow against the other person's ribs, and the hands disappeared.

"A little help?" someone demanded, and Fitz dimly heard Angela laugh.

"No, I think you're doing just fine on your own."

The hands weren't gone for long, but this time there were more than just one.

Two sets grabbed either arm, pulling him off of Coulson and Fitz howled in defiant rage, wrestling against the restraining hands as he was practically lifted into the air, kicking wildly as they tried to drag him out. As one arm came loose, only to be recaptured by the other person holding him, one foot caught someone's stomach, and there was a decidedly feminine cry of pain. Fitz's tunneled vision widened slightly, and he realized he'd just kicked May.

The hands that held him in a bear hug belonged to Mack, and the much larger man was holding him entirely off the ground. Someone was shouting at him, and when the roaring in his ears faded slightly, he recognized Skye's voice. She was on the ground next to Coulson, helping him sit up even as he tried to hold a cupped hand underneath the flow of blood from his broken nose.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Skye demanded angrily.

"Did you know?!" Fitz shouted. He twisted hard in Mack's grip and almost came loose, but the big man readjusted his arms without letting go. "Did _any_ of you fucking _know_?"

The silence was deafening.

The quietly receding rage surged back, and Fitz launched his head back, cracking the crown of his head against Mack's face. Mack stumbled, but stayed upright when he hit the wall behind them.

"Come on, Fitz, stop it!" Mack demanded, giving him a bone crushing squeeze.

But Fitz was done with following orders. He was done giving the benefit of the doubt to his so called teammates. He wanted to hurt them. Hurt them more than they'd hurt him, because even after _Ward_ defended them, they were no better than HYDRA. He bit down on Mack's arm, so hard and so fast that his teeth sank through skin and into muscle and he tasted blood.

"Get him off of me!" Mack shouted, his grip loosening but Fitz wasn't interested in letting go.

Something hissed against his arm, and the unfortunately familiar sensation of a sedative spread through his veins. As fast as his heart was beating, it took only moments before he felt his death grip on Mack's arm loosen, his head lolling back against the man's shoulder.

"I'm so, so, so sorry Fitz!" Jemma said, verging on tears even as she held the jet injector in her hand.

It wasn't her betrayal that stung the most, though.

"If it was you," he growled, glaring at Skye. "If it was _you_ , in that lab. If it was _you_ in Hell, Zola would be dead."

"That's not true," Skye said, but Fitz could hear the lie in her voice.

"He only cares when it's _you_ ," he snapped. " _I_ was only there because he couldn't let anything happen to _you_. This should be _you_." With the last vestiges of consciousness, he spat the blood in his mouth at her feet. "I _**hate**_ you."

* * *

"I like this place," Angela said cheerfully. "It's exciting." She watched in amusement as Mack picked up the now unconscious Fitz, wincing as the shift in position pulled on the open wound in his arm and took him from the room. Jemma trailed after them.

"Shut up," Skye said, helping Coulson stand. The Director had one hand on the table, the other on his nose where he was gingerly feeling out the damage.

"I don't think so," Angela said, beaming from ear to ear. "You know, I _really_ see why Grant likes him so much. I actually thought that skinny little thing was going to win for a moment there."

"You could've helped," Skye retorted.

Angela held her cuffed hands up. "And what is it that you think I should've done? Batted my eyes and said pretty please?"

Skye rolled her eyes. "God, you're _just_ like him."

Angela's eyes narrowed, and instead of answering, she stuck one long leg underneath the table and pushed the fallen chair into back of Skye's knees. Skye stumbled briefly, but as soon as she righted herself, the entire floor began to shake.

"Skye, don't." Coulson shook his head in warning, and immediately winced.

"Yeah, _Skye_ , don't," Angela mocked.

"What are you, seven?" Skye grumbled. But the room did stop shaking.

Angela didn't answer her, but instead spoke to Coulson without turning her head from Skye. "She's not part of the brain trust, is she?"

Coulson picked his chair up, sitting it back down on the legs, hissing in pain when he jostled bruised ribs. When the hell did Fitz learn to throw a punch? He was going to have to talk to Hunter about that one…

"You've made your point, Angela."

"I don't think I have," Angela countered, and there was a sharp edge to her tone that Coulson hadn't heard before.

"Angela -"

She cut him off with sharp command. "Take your gun and put it to your head."

Skye grabbed her gun from her holster, placing it against her temple. "What the fu-"

"Take the safety off," Angela commanded.

Skye flipped the safety off with her thumb.

"Angela, she gets it," Coulson began, but Angela silenced him with a glare that could've killed.

"Not another word out of you until I tell you," Angela said, and Coulson's jaw clacked shut. She turned back to Skye. "I want you to remember this moment, little girl. I want you to remember this moment in time any time you ever get the silly idea that you are the most dangerous person in the room. Remember the feeling of complete and utter helplessness you have right now, knowing that if I was in a less forgiving mood, I could kill you without raising a finger, chained to a table and surrounded by your top agents." Angela stood, placing her palms down on the table and leaning so far forward her nose almost touched Skye's. "And it would mean as little to me as snuffing out a candle."

Skye fought to pull her arm down. It didn't even waver. She screamed in her head to _put it down_ but her arm and gun remained fixed on her temple.

"Put the gun away."

Automatically, Skye flicked the safety on and re-holstered her gun.

"Now _go away_ , little girl." Angela sat back down, making a shooing motion with her still cuffed hands. "And don't bother me again with your show boating unless you're prepared to throw down."

Skye turned on a perfect about face and exited the room, and after a quick nod from Coulson, May followed after her. As soon as the door clicked shut, Angela's entire demeanor changed. She smiled brightly, all traces of the murderous anger gone. "You can speak again."

"Was that necessary?" Coulson demanded.

Angela shrugged, examining her nails. "If you want to start a fight, better throw the first punch and make it a good one."

"Did you just quote a song?"

"Probably. Where were we? I believe I was making demands."

"What do you want with Zola?"

"To brutally torture him and then kill him. Several times, if I'm careful," Angela said bluntly. "You can't tell me you're morally against the death of Nazi eugenicist who tortured at least one of your agents."

"I can't agree to that," Coulson said. He sniffed experimentally, and winced.

Angela cocked her head to the side, so much like Ward it was uncanny. "Was Scottie right when he said you would've killed Zola if it had been Shake, Rattle and Roll there who was the one under the microscope?"

"Maybe," Coulson answered honestly. "I don't know."

Angela studied him carefully. "An honest answer of a lack of conviction. Scottie seemed pretty convinced."

"Fitz has had some...issues, since coming back. He doesn't talk to anyone except your brother about what happened. The rest of us only get bits and pieces when he gets upset."

Angela raised an eyebrow, running an appraising eye over Coulson's battered form. "You mean to tell me he does that often? Now I _really_ like him."

Coulson chuckled mirthlessly, then coughed. "No, this would be a first. Your brother has a better influence on him. Ward tends to keep him grounded."

Angela's eyes widened in legitimate surprise. "No shit?"

The Director smirked, touching his tongue to a cut on his lip. "No shit."

"Speaking of my brother, you seemed to think his condition was something of a pressing matter. Are we really going to sit inside this little box playing Twenty Questions until the rapture, or are we going to go see him? Besides…I don't know if you've seen your reflection, but you look like you should be heading to the med bay anyway." Angela mimed looking at a non existent watch on her wrist. "Tick, tock, Director."

Coulson's gaze flicked to the observation window he knew Gonzalez was standing behind. He could just picture the older man shaking his head against the idea of having a telepath allowed outside interrogation, but as far as he was concerned, Angela was at least being polite enough to pretend like he had an option. If she really wanted to go, she made it abundantly clear she could leave at any time she wanted. And he really, _really_ wanted to piss off Gonzalez right now.

He smiled pleasantly, reached over and undid her handcuffs. "Shall we?"

* * *

As soon as Coulson turned his back to her, Angela smiled. She couldn't help it. She was _enjoying_ herself for the first time in a long while. And once she got Grant back into working order, Thomas was next on her list.

People were like switch boards, with thousand different buttons to push. Sometimes, she just pushed one. Other times, when she was particularly bored, she just liked to run her hands across the entire board, hitting everything all at once.

She felt only slightly bad about Fitz – only in that he was, after all, likely the only reason her brother was still alive and outside of a jail cell. But this was her game – and sometimes, the Queen sacrificed her pawn.

Fitz was unlikely to be released any time soon, and if her brother's condition was as deteriorated as they made it out to be, Grant wasn't going to be in any shape to go visit a cell, padded or otherwise. Which meant her poor, damaged brother had exactly no one he trusted.

No one, except for her.


	32. Chapter 32

Angela paused outside the glass walls of the medical observation room, frowning. "You know, I assumed when you said you were treating him, you meant you were treating him _well_. He looked better when _mom_ had him."

And she wasn't exaggerating either. She and her siblings had to make routine public appearances, given their family's political status, and her mother and father made sure to never leave a mark that a camera could pick up. If any of the children, namely Christian, were caught leaving bruises on the others, they learned a lesson not soon forgotten. She owed her immaculate posture to her mother's lessons – it was difficult to slouch with burns across your shoulders. Christian simply learned a different method of beating on his other brothers that kept himself out of his mother's educational lectures.

Now, on the other hand, Grant looked like he was about to shake hands with death. The room was dark, but she could still see the pale translucence of his skin, the dark circles under sunken eyes and the rough protrusion of bone under too tight skin. If the monitors were accurate, her brother really _had_ turned into Hellfire, because his temperature was over 108. After 107, heatstroke became irreversible and death was inevitable. He didn't look like he was sleeping very well either – he constantly moved under the blankets, repeatedly kicking off blankets that he almost immediately burrowed back under.

He had new scars.

"My apologies, but your brother isn't what I would call a typical patient. Our biologists are currently working on analyzing blood samples to see exactly what's changed since last we saw him...before he became...Hellfire, or whatever you want to call his condition," Coulson said, offering a half shrug of apology.

"What brought it on?" Angela asked. "Mom tried for years and got nothing."

"I'm not the one to ask. Assistant Director Gonzalez is apparently something of an aficionado when it comes to your family history, and knows more about your mother's work. He found Zola's notes on your brother in the aftermath of the lab take down, but only acted on the information recently."

Roughly translated, Angela assumed that meant that Coulson didn't have a clue what the hell their mother was playing at with her experiments, or what Zola found that she could not. The Hellfire project _did_ exist when they were children, and that was always Adaline's endgame for her second son. But something in Grant...not his DNA or genetic makeup, or anything quantifiable, made it impossible. It worked on her other experiments, except they hadn't been prepped in the womb like her children to withstand such a drastic change in physiology or biology. But never on her brother.

Angela just assumed that his superpower had been the ability to say _fuck you_ to their mom on a cellular level.

Zola, on the other hand, didn't have Adaline's need to keep her subjects alive. He probably _preferred_ it, but it wasn't a primary concern.

It did, however, beg the question of whether or not they realized he had a much more latent ability – one shared by all the Ward children to ensure that Adaline didn't have to worry about safety protocols. But by the looks of things, Grant had either lost it, or was too sick to combat it.

Without asking for permission, Angela opened the door and let herself in, startling the man who was sitting in the chair at her brother's feet, flipping through files.

"Earl Grey," she said, indicating him with a nod.

"The name is Hunter, if it matters," Earl Grey said, looking questioningly from her to Coulson. When he caught sight of the bruised and bloody face of his boss, his mouth dropped open. "Did _she_ do that?"

Coulson grimaced, catching his reflection in the glass. "Uh, no. No, she did not."

When he didn't explain any further, Hunter raised an eyebrow. "That have anything to do with the alarm earlier that everyone ran off to?"

Coulson nodded, and Angela didn't say anything. She was curious if Coulson was going to explain about the feisty Scottie beating the hell out of him. She made a mental note to grab the security footage before she left the building. She could watch that for _days_ and not tire of it.

Hunter glanced behind the two of them, then twisted in his seat, craning his neck to look down the visible part of the hallway. "Where's Fitz? Didn't he go with you?"

Coulson looked at Angela, who remained silent and impassive, waiting to see what he said. She suspected he wanted to see if she was going to answer, or prompt him a line.

Coulson cleared his throat. "I'll explain later."

Hunter rocked forward on his chair legs, hitting the front legs on the ground. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. I'll explain after."

Angela fought the urge to roll her eyes. And people said _she_ had loose morals.

"What's she doing in here?" Hunter asked, nodding towards Angela who cautiously moved closer to her brother's bed. "I thought she was a prisoner."

"Try telling her that," Coulson said grimly. "She offered to help with Ward."

"There's two of us now, you might want to reference us with first names," Angela suggested. She reached out to her brother's forehead, palm hovering over his super-heated skin. She felt like she was checking the temperature of an oven.

"His temperature has been on the rise ever since we got back," Hunter explained, keeping a wary eye on her. "They switched over to cool saline and cooling blankets, but it doesn't seem to do much."

"They're trying to fight it like it's an infection?" Angela said, raising a brow. "Really?"

Hunter frowned. "Any suggestions then? We'd love to hear them, because we have no idea what's going on."

Angela huffed, turning back to her brother. In this close proximity, she could see the damage done since last time she'd seen him. The thin line of scar tissue that ran through his hair, the thick ropey red lines down his wrists from older self-inflicted injuries. One hospital scrub pant leg was hiked up almost to his knee from his constant movement, and the angry red W shaped scar that cut through his shin stood out in stark comparison to pale skin – along with the tiny pinprick of scar tissue placed around the wound.

How could Coulson wonder why she wanted Zola in exchange for her help?

"You've dealt with Inhumans, correct?" she asked.

When both Coulson and Hunter nodded, she continued on.

"They have their weird rock incubation period to adjust to something alien. This is just a different version. He's adjusting to the Hellfire…formula? DNA? Whatever the hell Adaline wanted to call it. He's gone from normal human being to _not_ normal human being. There's a period of adjustment." Angela glared imperiously down her nose. "I'm assuming Miss Earth Mover had a couple days to figure out how to alter kinetic energy without shaking herself apart."

Coulson and Hunter shared a look, and Angela could see she was right in her assumption. She'd had several run ins with Dr. Zabo, or Johnson, or whatever he was calling himself these days. The man was seven shades of crazy, but she could overlook that in favor of his genius when it came to genetics. All she had to do was listen to his vindictive ramblings about his family being ruined by HYDRA and she could glean all the information she wanted.

She wanted to know about the sudden flare ups of people with bizarre super powers (melting things? Really? How incredibly unhelpful), and to make sure it wasn't her mother's research cropping up again. Nope. Not her mother's research. Just a latent alien DNA.

 _Ain't no thing like me, 'cept me_. She should have that put on a t-shirt.

"You seem to know an awful lot about Inhumans for them being such a new thing," Coulson said pointedly. "Any particular reason for the interest?"

Angela fought _hard_ to not roll her eyes. She was a telepath that could control people with a word and a thought, and the Director of her biggest competitor in the business wondered _why_ her interest in people who could conduct enough electricity to power a small city, teleport anywhere in the world, or hell, _fly_.

She glanced down at her brother. "Seriously, little brother? _This_ is the team you went to bat for? You and I need to discuss your tactical choices."

She could see Coulson grit his teeth and clench his jaw against her sarcasm. Who needed mind control powers when people were just _so damn easy_ to set off?

"I may or may not have run into Zabo-Johnson on occasion. He's a talkative man, for a raging lunatic. Made me feel at home."

"You met Skye's father?"

And suspicion confirmed. She thought Skye looked familiar, but she couldn't be sure. Intelligence agency, her foot. Didn't they employ the Black Widow? Did she teach them _nothing_?

"A time or two. No worries. We're not friends. I'm more concerned about the problem at hand, if you don't mind. Let's not dwell on the _how_ of what I know, just that I _know_."

"Fine. Where would you like to start?" Coulson asked, clearly irritated with his choice to actually bring her to her brother. She gave him credit though – he knew it wasn't a choice so much as a lack of options.

Angela glanced down at her fitfully sleeping brother. He hadn't woken from his fever dreams, despite their conversation. Not that they'd been talking particularly loudly, but it spoke volumes to her about his mental health. No one slept well in their house – not when a creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door hinge could be the approach of a suddenly inspired Adaline Ward.

"Leave us," she commanded, and watched as they filed out the door. She closed and locked it behind them, and lowered the shades. Then she climbed up on the vacated chair Hunter had been sitting in, and ripped out the back of the security camera in the corner of the room.

The room was almost entirely dark now, considering it'd already been dim when they'd first arrived. Without the ambient light from the hallway through the glass, all she had now was the light from the monitors.

She couldn't have any witnesses.

Making sure to avoid the lines snaking in and around the covers, she crawled into the bed next to him, pressed so closely her knees and elbows touched his, and she could feel the radiant heat coming from him, even as he stopped his constant motion.

Just as she knew he would, he reached out for her, and she carefully caught his hand in both of hers, kissing it gently.

Just like when they were children, and she snuck into his bed after he'd done another round with Adaline.

"Come on, little brother, I traveled across the world this time to come and see you," she whispered. "Least you can do is open your eyes."

Grant cracked one eye open, and she braced for one of two reactions.

Instead, he smiled tiredly, and let his eye close again. "Hey, Angie."

"Hey, Grant," she said. "Long time no see."

This time he smirked, and opened both eyes. "Must mean I'm dying."

"You're certainly giving it your best shot, brother."

"At least you came to visit this time," Grant said. "I take it they sent you their usual invite?"

Angela nodded.

Grant's eyes drifted shut again. "I _did_ try to tell them it was a bad idea."

Angela chuckled. "Maybe once they get a chance to see the Wonder Twins in action, they'll pay closer attention next time."

Grant didn't say anything, merely hummed non-committedly.

She _missed_ her brother. Not that she would ever admit it, but she actually liked him. Despite the atrocities she committed, he was almost always the first one to come to her aide. Even if it put him directly in the line of fire.

"Look and what trying to be the hero has gotten you, brother," Angela said, softly tracing the lines of scarring across his skin. "All your frayed and patchwork glory, and look at what has been done…"

"Tried the bad guy routine too," Grant protested. "It went worse."

She chuckled. "There's a thing called shades of gray, you know."

This time he actually smirked, and his chapped lips cracked. "That's what I _was_ doing…and this is where I wound up."

Angela tsked, lightly tapping her forehead against his in admonishment. "Good thing I showed up to show you the ropes, huh?"

Grant opened his eyes again, this time his eyes darkening with distrust. "Why are you here, Angie?"

She looked away as well she could considering how close they were. Her brother had always been better than a lie detector where she was concerned. "I didn't come for you. I didn't even know you were here. I'm _staying_ because of you."

"I don't need you," he protested. It didn't come off as a childish whine she was hoping for. It sounded like a statement of fact – like saying the sky was blue, the grass was green or the sun was warm.

Angela tended to be brutally honest. She could afford to be. If people didn't like she said, it didn't matter – they were compelled to do it anyway. But she couldn't afford her brother's hate. Not now. But Grant's emotions always got the better of him, and even when he tried to shut them off like she could, he wasn't predictable, which made him more dangerous than she was.

But now was not the time for safe bets.

"What do you _think_ they're going to do with you, Grant? If you can't control your power, they won't need you. Your options are bug under a microscope, dead, or another drone."

Angela had two reasons for holding onto her brother's hands. One, because she knew he took comfort in physical affection, and two, because with her long fingers, she could feel his pulse and his temperature as they fluctuated up and down.

Right now, his temperature was steadily creeping upwards, but he wasn't reacting like he was getting sicker.

Because he was getting angrier. Test number one: success. And she didn't wind up a charcoal briquette- double bonus.

"No one knows how we work, Grant. And we were always stronger together. I owe you a debt – give me this chance to pay it off."

"And how do you plan on doing that, _sister_?" Grant growled.

"Because we know how scientists solve problems. And either they're going to solve them using you, or they're going to solve them by using _me_ ," Angela said bluntly.

Grant's reaction was visceral. That anger that he'd just had was gone in the blink of an eye. Dark eyes widened in fear as he pulled back from her but was stopped by the rail of the bed. She could feel his pulse rocket up even before the monitors caught it, and his temperature plummeted.

"We know the drill, Grant. It's not going to change. I _owe_ you. Let me do this _one_ thing. I promise I won't let them repeat history," she said. "I'm not a little kid anymore. They're not going to scare me. There's no more monsters under the bed worse than me."

" _Why_?" Grant whispered. "Angela, it wasn't _any_ better for you."

Angela sighed. Her brother was a shoe in for martyrdom. "Because of what you did to mom. Because of what you did to Christian. Because you killed _my_ monsters. Let me fight _yours_."


	33. Chapter 33

Jemma thought working with Grant Ward was bad enough when he was actually a part of their team. Then she reevaluated bad when she found out he was HYDRA, and again when he was…third party disestablishmentarian, or whatever you wanted to call him.

After dealing with Angela for twenty minutes, she would take Grant Ward on his worst day, every _single_ time.

It was like dealing with the human version of a cat. An evil cat. A cat with the capability of tactical psychological warfare.

Thank God Bobbi decided to stay in the lab while the blood work was being run. Hunter remained in Ward's room, mostly to deflect anyone else who wanted to enter, but he was never one to tolerate sitting in the lab for hours on end.

It was times like these that she missed Fitz the most. The _old_ Fitz, because new Fitz still didn't tolerate time in the lab for long periods, and she was never entirely positive what his triggers were. Sometimes it was bright lights. Sometimes it was simple requests. Sometimes he would be working on something, finally get into the 'groove' again, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, he would swipe his project off the table.

Sometimes she wondered if it was just to watch it break.

She knew that was Angela's case.

Angela liked to make conversation, unlike her brother. She wasn't quiet, or reluctant to give information. Quite the opposite. But instead of cold, clinical detached recitation of what her mother put her and her brothers through, she gave horrible, graphic descriptions.

"Do you know what it feels like to have a brain biopsy while you're still awake? It doesn't hurt once you get past the outer layer of skin, because your brain doesn't have any pain receptors. But it's not the pain you remember. It's the _smell_."

"Once, when we were playing, Christian broke his arm. It was an accident, but mother was upset that he couldn't participate in the trials she had lined up for him, so she didn't set it until it had started to heal. You know that sound, when you break a wishbone? Thanksgiving was never quite the same..."

"Chemical trials were always the worst. Sometimes it made your skin burn from the inside out. Other times you got so cold you thought you'd never warm up again."

Jemma tried to ignore her, but Angela was nothing if not persistent. Persistent, and obnoxiously observant.

"I remember you from the interrogation room," Angela said. She held a piece of gauze to freshly made blood sample site. "You were the one who took out Scottie."

Jemma almost dropped the vial she was labeling.

"Where is he, anyway? I feel like he should be here. I'm guessing he normally is, because you keeping looking at that other work station like it's a shrine for someone dearly departed."

Jemma set down her blood sample, taking a deep breath before she forced a smile and turned back to Angela. "Ms. Ward," she began, and Angela smiled.

"Ooo, so formal. It's because you're British, isn't it?"

" _Angela_ ," she amended. "Just because Director Gonzalez and Coulson said you were an ally, doesn't mean I agree with the decision. And if I have to work with you, I would prefer that we not be friendly, if it's all the same to you."

Angela's smile was slow, spreading across her face like the Cheshire Cat…except not the Disney version. There was something sinister in that smile. Something that made Jemma feel like she'd just fallen down the rabbit hole, but it wasn't Wonderland she was bound for.

"Consummate professional, aren't you _Jemma_ ," Angela said. "All the great scientists are. It's easier to make a break through when you don't have to think of your experiments as people. Mengele. Zola. Magnus. Bender. My mother. I wonder…how long before I get to add the name Simmons to the list? Before you cure my brother? Or after you decide you want the _old_ Fitz back? Broken toys are nearly as much fun, are they?"

Jemma slammed her hands down on the table top, biting her lip before counting to ten before she answered. "Ms. Ward – I'm not here to help you _or_ your brother. As far as I'm concerned, the both of you can go and rot in one of the darkest corners of Hell available. I'm doing this because Coulson _asked_ me to, and because somehow he seems to think this is going to help Fitz. I'm not being professional for fear of considering you human, it's because I don't think of you as human enough to be worth saving."

Angela raised a finely manicured eyebrow, her dark eyes unreadable. She said nothing, and somehow that made it worse, and Jemma wanted nothing more than to kick the woman out of the lab – out of the _base_ – entirely.

"No snarky reply? I thought that was a Ward family trait," Jemma said, before turning back to her blood samples.

"I wonder what they would've made you," Angela said thoughtfully. "Do tell, _Jemma_ …would they have succeeded with you?" She paused, and cocked her head to the side, drumming her long nails against the counter top. "Would they even have had to try?"

The same familiar rage that welled up the last time she'd had to work with a Ward came bubbling forwards, and she clenched her hands together, fingernails digging into the soft part of her palms.

"I have enough from you for today, _thank you_ ," Jemma said, trying to keep her voice even and at least moderately tempered.

Instead of arguing, Angela simply smiled, hopping off her stool with an overly enthusiastic bounce. "Don't worry, _Jemma_ ," she said, before glancing around the room to make sure they were really alone. She leaned in close, putting a conspiratory hand up to her mouth. "It didn't take much to convince me, either. I won't judge."

"Oh get _out_!" Jemma shouted, and picked up the nearest thing to throw.

The pencil holder missed Angela's head by a mile, and she laughed on her way out the door.

She hadn't even bothered to duck.

Jemma couldn't _wait_ to be rid of the Wards – both of them. She'd always thought that Grant Ward was bad. Hell, he _still_ was, even if no one else saw it. Well, that wasn't entirely true, either.

It seemed like SHIELD was picking sides again. The ones who thought maybe, just maybe, Ward was salvageable. That maybe he wasn't a complete psychopath, and he deserved a second chance.

Mostly Team Ward consisted of Hunter, Bobbi, Coulson and Fitz, though Jemma still couldn't understand that last one.

How could _Fitz_ sympathize with _Ward_? Ward was the reason Fitz's mind was such a bloody disaster. First with the hypoxia, and now with – with _whatever_ was going on now. He was irrationally protective of the man who threw them in the ocean to die. The same man who killed half of SHIELD with his former handler. The same man who murdered half his family.

She purposely didn't think of the time the same man had jumped out of a plane to save her.

One good deed was not enough to balance out a lifetime of evil.

"You know that's what she does, right?" Bobbi asked from her corner. She barely looked up from the microscopes lined up in front of her, sorting through blood slides from Ward and Fitz from their initial screenings compared to the ones from this last week.

"What?" Jemma said, almost having forgotten Bobbi was even in the same space. She was so used to Fitz who talked almost non-stop through his various projects, she hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that she had a near silent partner now.

"Winds people up. Just to watch them go," Bobbi said, smirking briefly. "Her brother does the same thing."

"She gives me the creeps," Jemma said matter-of-factly. "And I don't believe she wants to help, either. I think she's up to something."

Bobbi snorted, glancing down at one of the blood slides before frowning and shaking her head. "Of course she is. She's a raging psychopath with mind control powers and the moral compass of Jack Sparrow. Even Ward warned us about her, and he's her brother."

"So then why are we letting her just freely flounce about the base? Aren't we even the _least_ bit concerned about what she might do unsupervised?"

Bobbi shrugged. "I guess it sort of depends. You want to try and tell a psychic no?"

Fair point. Not much use in telling someone like Angela they weren't allowed to do something. It was worse than having a teenager.

"As long as she's in here, or with her brother, we can still keep an eye on her. She doesn't really interact with anyone else, except maybe Hunter, but that's because he's normally the one keeping Ward company. And she _is_ keeping her promise to help."

Also an unfortunately fair point. Angela had made the deal that she would be the pin cushion this time, offering up the entire formula her mother used to create both her and Grant's Inhuman like powers.

Unlike Inhumans though, it wasn't just as simple as an alien genetic marker in their DNA. It was down to their very molecular structure – something so bizarre and _genius_ that Jemma was beginning to suspect they were never going to be able to understand. The Ward children were _tailor made humans_. Everything about them was human, and that was the most frustrating part.

So while they were discovering tons of new information, they were no closer to figuring out just what the hell had been done to them. Especially not to the point they could recreate it, or repair it.

If Jemma were to be honest with herself, she didn't really care about trying to fix the Wards.

She wanted to be able to fix _Fitz_. And maybe the key to unlocking the DNA that allowed the Wards to be able to alter brain chemistry, to withstand and create _fire_ , was the same key that would allow her to unlock Fitz's mind, and bring back the old Fitz – the one before the shipping container. The one before Zola and Magnus.

The one she missed so _damn_ much.

(*(*(*(*(*

Grant had actually forgotten how much he enjoyed having his sister around. Or at least, when she had someone else to torment instead of him.

It was sort of a thing of beauty. Angela was a psychic, yes, but that wasn't what made her dangerous. It was her ability to find _juuust_ the right button to push, and then jabbed at it repeatedly. As long as she was around, no one really came to bother him. He hadn't seen Skye in days, or even Jemma and thank God, Gonzalez. Every time they'd needed something from him, they'd send Bobbi, and Angela actually seemed to be mildly impressed with the other agent.

At the very least, she didn't purposely try and piss her off.

It was the little things.

Angela was funny. She was whip smart. She had the same dark, twisted sense of humor that he sometimes had, and better yet, she didn't look at him like he was about to break.

Or burst into flames.

He hadn't been getting any worse, but he also didn't seem to be getting any better. After several days of running what felt like non-stop blood work and panels and tests, Grant was beginning to suspect that while science may have caught up with the mind of Adaline Ward, the rest of humanity hadn't.

Which left him with his sister who he hadn't seen in almost fifteen years, except in between the lines of HYDRA and SHIELD field reports about somebody orchestrating the rise and fall of empires.

Seriously. Spy networks had nothing on a bored Angela.

However easily bored, she was also easily amused, and they'd fallen back into their old habit of playing cards to pass the time. The more they played, the more dim memories seemed to surface. He still couldn't remember details – at least not of his mother.

But he could remember being sick a lot when they were both _much_ younger. Possibly before Thomas was even born. But he _could_ remember being stuck in bed, and Angela was the only one to keep him company, much like she did now.

"Why _are_ you a fugitive, anyway?" Grant asked. "You were mom's favorite, outside of Thomas. I would've thought you'd be a HYDRA operative from the get go."

Angela smiled coyly, ducking her head so she had to look up through her eye lashes at him. "Because HYDRA isn't a fan of people who don't listen. And especially not of people who not only don't _listen_ , but push other people to do things they don't want to. Like...shoot their own balls off."

Grant snorted, trying to smother a laugh and failing. "I thought you always did what mom said?"

Angela shot him an incredulous look. "Well, duh. Mom was way scarier than any HYDRA head. What was it she always told us?"

"'I brought you into this world, and no one will miss you if I take you out.' Yeah. Mom was..."

"Not the kind you got cards for," Angela finished. "Mom was fucking crazy, and her crazy was way off the rails of the crazy train HYDRA was driving. HYDRA had a goal – they wanted something. Mom...you were just as likely to be given candy as you were an unknown genetic virus."

Grant nodded begrudgingly. "Point. So your excuse as to why HYDRA has been chasing you since we were seventeen is because you're a bit of sore spot for them?"

"You weren't really in touch for a while, so I guess you wouldn't know. You're not the only one that went through HYDRA's field test," Angela said. "Christian didn't only because he was too valuable as a potential replacement for Pierce. But you and I?" She batted her eyes. "Let's face it, we were more than just pretty faces."

Grant didn't answer, simply regarding her warily from across the room.

Angela huffed in frustration. "I get it, okay? I'm not exactly citizen of the year, but you're hardly in the position to be throwing stones, dear brother."

"If you went through the same field tests, then there's no way that you didn't pass and become a HYDRA agent," Grant pointed out, crossing his arms stubbornly. "I watched you push a girl you didn't like in front of a car when we were nine. You wouldn't have a problem shooting an animal."

Angela scoffed. "Oh, please." She mimicked his posture and folded her arms across her chest. "You know how I feel about dogs."

Grant frowned. "You didn't shoot it either?"

Angela curled her lip in disgust. "Of course not. But," she wagged her finger at her brother. "I don't know that I actually failed the test. I prefer to think of it as my own _Kobayashi Maru_."

Grant smirked at that. "Color outside the lines, did you?"

"I prefer to think of it as finger painting," Angela replied smugly.

"Fine. I'll bite. How'd you pass without shooting the dog?"

Angela made a 'pffft' noise, rolling her eyes and looking for all the world like a moody teenager. "Dear brother, what did they tell us? 'Don't trust anyone. Not even us.' HYDRA should really learn to take their own fucking advice and not hand a really pissed off psychotic teenaged girl a gun to shoot the dog she _likes_ and not expect her to shoot the jackass that told me he was going to be back in a couple weeks, give or take seven _months_."

Grant's jaw dropped. "You shot your _handler_?"

"You look just as surprised as he did when I shot him. Looked like this." She made an exaggerated look of surprise, eyes going wide and one hand on her chest like she'd just been handed an Oscar instead of related a story of killing a man. Then she rolled her eyes and dropped the facetious expression. "Of course I shot him. What the fuck did he think I was going to do? Crawl on my knees, begging to be taken in and shown the way to enlightenment? Like there was even a _chance_ I wasn't going to shoot the asshole who kidnapped me and left me to die in the wilderness like a sick cat. If they didn't want me to shoot him, they shouldn't have put real goddamn bullets in it. I did HYDRA a _favor_ , shooting that moron. And how did they thank me?" she snarled. "By putting a price on my head so high even Christian gave it a thought. I mean, seriously, they train double agents. They recruit _crazy people_. Not like your average, run of the mill the walls are melting crazy, either. Like, 'bow before me for I am your god' crazy. How is it that they're so goddamned surprised _every_ time one of them goes off the rails of the crazy train? And they think I'm going to take orders from people like _that_? Who's _really_ the crazy one in this scenario?"

Grant stared at her for a moment, mouth still open before the corner of his mouth started to curve upwards into an amused smirk. And then he laughed. Actual, honest to God _laughed_ , until his sides hurt and even his face hurt from smiling because he hadn't used those muscles in months.

"God, I _missed_ you Angela," he said, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "You're fucking crazy, but you still make me laugh."

Angela sniffed indignantly. "Of course I do. I'm hilarious."

"I still remember dad yelling at you... _'Don't you_ dare _learn the wrong lesson from this_!'."

Angela's smirk suddenly weakened, faltering to an almost wistful smile. "You remember that, huh?"

The sudden change in her demeanor had Grant frowning, and he leaned away from her as if he expected an attack. "Yeah...why?"

Angela shrugged one shoulder. "That was before mom really got her hands on us. Before she actually started making progress and hardly left us alone."

Grant shrugged. "So?"

Angela looked away. "I thought you'd lost most of those memories. The ones that were at least a _little_ bit good."

Grant frowned, rubbing at the back of his head. "Yeah…it's sort of starting to filter in? It's weird – like I have two different sets of memories. Like, I'm beginning to remember _some_ of the things mom did. Not really in detail, but…senses?"

Angela aimlessly shuffled the cards in her hands. "Like the smell of copper that never really went away?"

"Like the sounds of bones breaking," Grant said. "Not ours…but I think one of the others? Did she keep the failed ones?"

Angela chuckled darkly, flicking the cards end over end as she repeatedly pulled, and then shuffled back in, the ace of spaces. " _You_ were a failed one. But yeah…she used to have the bodies in the same room as us, and while one of the tests was running on us, she would do the autopsies on the others."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the only real sound the obnoxious beep of the machines that Grant still had to keep attached for monitoring.

"Can you fix it?" he asked quietly.

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Fix what?"

Grant gestured towards his head. " _This_. Me. Or at least tell if there's anything useful in there…in those memories that I can't seem to get to…that might explain what the _fuck_ is wrong with me now?"

"I don't know if you really want to remember, little brother," Angela said cautiously.

"And why not?" Ward demanded. "My entire life is in scattered pieces that I can't even hold on to. Other people know more about what I am than _I_ do. Why _wouldn't_ I want to know what happened? How is it going to be _any_ worse than what I already know?"

Angela didn't answer right away, which was unusual for her. Usually she had a witty retort or comeback before the other person even finished talking. She sat back, studying him with her head tilted to the side.

"Because _I_ remember. Because _I_ know what happened to us. All of us. And look what it has done to me. I feel _nothing_. _Nothing_ , Grant. We were pushed too far, too fast. Hell, she may just have well thrown us over a cliff. _Christian_ knew, and look what happened to him. Christian used to be a halfway decent older brother, you know? Not the best, because how could he be with Adaline as a mother, but at least he was still human. But then he started to change…and he turned into what you remember him as. And I remember thinking I didn't want that to happen to you. Even when I was a child, I knew there was something different about you compared to the rest of us. Shit, I think the only reason Thomas turned out halfway decent was because you were the one who raised him."

Grant snorted. "Yeah. Some brother. I let Christian bully me into torturing him because I was too much of a coward to do anything about it. I turned out to be just as much of a monster as he was."

Angela dropped the Ace, fumbling with the card as her fingers slipped.

"What?" Grant asked suspiciously.

"Nothing."

"You haven't dropped a card since you were seven. What's the deal?"

Angela looked down at her hands, the cards hanging loosely in her grip, and she grimaced. "That's not _really_ accurate…"

Now _that_ was not what he was expecting. He caught her hand, twisting it slightly in his grasp to make a point. "What do you mean, 'not really accurate'?"

Angela sighed, finally looking back up at him. She met his gaze, and for a brief moment, there was something unrecognizable in those almost black eyes Something that looked suspiciously like regret.

"I made you a monster so you would forget you were the most human of us all."


	34. Chapter 34

_You're_ why everything is so fucked up?" Grant snapped, fingers tightening around her wrist with every intent on break it.

"Hey! In my defense, I was like thirteen, and I _just_ figured out how to influence people," Angela protested, not sounding sorry at all.

"I thought none of it ever stuck?"

Angela shrugged one shoulder. "Fun fact about us, little bro – I'm the only one you're not immune to. Mom was the only one who knew it, and I think she was hoping that if she could push me into controlling you, that rebellious streak of yours would go away. And maybe, _just_ maybe, you would finally be the monster she was looking for."

"What the hell did you _do_?"

Angela's gaze flicked to the monitors, before she answered. "If I tell you, you have to promise to wait until the end to barbecue me, okay?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Not good, at any rate. You know how bad I am at helping. And I really, _really_ was trying, okay?" Angela said defensively. "You kept volunteering for mom's projects, even when you could barely stand on your own, just so she would leave us alone. Every _fucking_ time, Grant. And so sue me, I got sick of watching you dying. I hated you for always stepping up for us, for making sure nothing happened to Tommy, and I mean _shit_ , you were even nice to Christian. And it was like you couldn't accept that mom just didn't give a shit about us. Like maybe she would love us if only we could be what she wanted and yeah. I got fucking _tired_ of it."

Grant didn't say anything, but he kept his hand on her wrist, fingers overlapping her pulse even though he knew she was perfectly capable of keeping it even.

It also happened to be a handy pressure point.

"So when I got my abilities, I tested them out. I just wanted to see if I could make you less…" Angela used her free hand to gesture at her brother.

"That's specific," Grant deadpanned.

Angela huffed, and wrenched her hand free of his grip, folding her arms defiantly across her chest. "I slapped a patch job on you to make you less _you_ , you moron." She again gestured vaguely in his direction, looking anywhere but at him. "And I fucked up royally. Because I didn't fix you, I just made you into basically a schizophrenic with selective amnesia. If I hadn't tried to make you into something like me, something like _mom_ , you would never have thrown Tommy in the well. You would've _never_ gone with Garrett. That's just not what you were like. You were a martyr. You were perfectly fine with mom hurting you as long as it wasn't one of us, but _I_ wasn't, and I made you into a freak."

Grant blinked. That was _not_ what he was expecting. For one thing, that sounded suspiciously like an apology. From _Angela_. Angela never apologized. _Ever_.

Secondly…

"If it's a patch…can you remove it?" he asked.

Angela looked mildly surprised that he even asked. "Uh, theoretically, I guess. I've never really been one for undoing damage…but I really don't know that it's a good idea."

Grant could feel his temper start to rise again and made a conscious effort to keep it in check. As strange as it sounded, he really didn't want to make any more attempts at the Hellfire abilities until Fitz came back from wherever he'd disappeared to. He was the only one who'd seen them and hadn't freaked out, himself included. He didn't trust anyone else.

And trusting his sister to do the wrong thing was not what he counted as _trust_.

"Angela, you can't possibly think I'm going to believe you if you tell me those memories, or whatever the hell it is you patched over, is going to be any worse than the ones of HYDRA. I want them back. I _need_ them back."

Angela scratched the back of her head. "That's not my concern. It's not that they're going to be bad, because they are. My concern is that you won't be able to deal with them. Right now, tell me honestly – how do you deal with emotions? With guilt? With the knowledge of what you did for SHIELD _and_ HYDRA?"

Grant frowned. It wasn't something he normally considered, if at all.

"I'm going to take a wild stab at it and say you don't. Right now, your memories seem to be filtering back. If I rip off the patch, there's no guarantee what's going to happen. I mean, I'm not even sure what's going to come through. Or how much of _you_ is still going to be _you_." Angela held her hands up, imitating a scale. "I hate to be the one to point it out, but you've been this version a lot longer than you were the original."

Grant curled his hands into fists, feeling the first prickling of heat under his skin. That familiar well of rage that made his vision tunnel, and his heart spike. "Stop trying to tell me what I am. Nobody _made_ me. Why does _everyone_ keep acting like I'm some sort of mindless drone? I don't give a _shit_ what those memories are, or what you patched over, I want them because they're _mine_. And not you, or anybody else, has the fucking right to tell me who or _what_ I am."

Angela, instead of looking taken aback, actually smiled.

"Oh, little brother…how I've missed you," she said. She suddenly patted his foot, jumping to her feet. "Come on. Before I do anything, we're missing a crucial element to this. We're going on a field trip."

Grant frowned. "What?"

Angela gestured towards the door. "Get up, lazy ass. Let's go. You're not dying. I actually think I've figured this out, but I don't really want to test it out here."

Grant pulled the monitors loose from his skin, ignoring the flat lining beep from the heart monitor. "And where exactly are we going?"

Angela smiled, sticking her head out the door and taking a quick look around. "Where do they keep their embittered and vengeful ex-employees?"

"You mean the Vault?" Grant asked.

Angela thought about it for a moment. "No, not quite that bad. Not _your_ level ex-employee. Is there like a less dungeon-y version?"

"Yeah. The detention cells on the lower levels."

"Excellent. Come on. Let's go."

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

Fitz hissed as he accidentally zapped himself again. It didn't hurt any more than a static shock from a car door in winter, but it was still enough to make him wince.

Stupid thing. If he'd been in his lab, this wouldn't be an issue, but _no_. Apparently, attacking the co-director of SHIELD was highly frowned upon. Even if said co-director had been keeping the man who'd tortured, experimented on and tried to kill you as a pet in a cage.

They said he was unstable, and he was here in detention for his own good.

As far as Fitz was concerned, _he_ wasn't the unstable one. Seriously. How many times had keeping a pet psycho backfired? Mathematically speaking, their ratio was _every goddamned time_. No, unstable wasn't the word he'd choose…more like "politically pragmatic"

Fortunately, though he couldn't let him out without getting thrown in with him, Hunter had taken to smuggling him whatever small pieces of equipment he could.

Including the tiny remote he was currently working on, and was currently fighting back.

After the third tiny blue arc of electricity jumped from the tiny console to his finger, Fritz picked up the tiny piece of plastic and silicon and hurled it the length of his cell, yelling in frustration.

"And I thought _I_ had anger management problems," drawled a familiar voice.

Fitz didn't even have to look up to know that Ward was smirking at him like a moron, and he lifted his middle finger before turning.

"Wow. You look awful," he said, frowning. And Ward did. His cheeks were still flushed red from fever while the rest of him was alarmingly pale. The stark difference in him made him almost look like a black and white photograph, but he was at least standing on his own, and despite looking like microwaved death, he was still smiling at him.

"You really know how to make a guy feel better," Ward deadpanned, glancing over at the door lock. "At least you have a good excuse for not coming to visit me for the last couple of days. Kinda hurt my feelings a bit."

Fitz dropped his head, chuckling for a moment before he picked himself up off the floor. "Yeah, well, apparently pummeling the shit out your boss is frowned upon in this establishment, so they put me in time out to think about what I've done." He pushed his hand against the force field, watching the tiny golden geometric web spider out from the contact. "I told Hunter to send flowers."

Ward smirked. "And have you thought about your actions?"

Fitz returned the grin. "After careful consideration, if I had a chance to do it again…I would've hit him harder. Where's your sister?"

Ward jerked a thumb back over his shoulder towards the stairs. "Keeping the guard company. She was the one who told me you were down here."

Fitz raised an eyebrow. He was pretty sure Angela's primary goal for him was to keep him out of the picture.

Days of sitting with nothing to do tended to give one ample time for reflection, and the more he thought about Angela Ward, the more he was of the opinion she was the human embodiment of a hurricane – blowing into town just to fuck shit up.

"She tell you she's also kind of the reason I'm down here?" he asked, folding his arms.

Ward shrugged. "I could guess. Angela's great at pushing buttons."

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "She tell you _why_ I went after Coulson?"

"I'd rather hear it from you," Ward said, grin fading slightly.

So Angela _had_ told him. He was just hoping it wasn't true.

"Zola's alive," Fitz said, not even bothering to try and dance around the subject. He'd known Zola comparatively briefly to Ward, and unless Magnus had been around, he hadn't actually had any dealings with him whatsoever. "And Coulson and Gonzalez have been keeping him as a prisoner in the Vault."

Ward, on the other hand, had a lifetime of torture at the hands of the scientist.

Skye had been down to visit him, and so had Mack. And both times, Fitz had wound up so angry, and _so_ frustrated at their complete lack of understanding as to _why_ Fitz was so angry that they'd kept Zola, he wound up punching the force field in front of their faces.

Because to them, it shouldn't matter that they kept Zola alive. It shouldn't matter to him because Zola hadn't _done_ anything to him. He was a wealth of information on the Inhumans biology, on enhanced people, on what HYDRA was planning on doing and what they had done in the past.

But they didn't share Fitz's nightmares. Because it shouldn't matter who the person was, _no one_ deserved what he did to people. Twisted and turned them and _broke them_ into a million unrecognizable pieces.

Zola was Frankenstein.

Zola made _monsters_.

And SHIELD wanted to know _how_.

Ward took the news slightly better than Fitz had, but that could just be because of how he found out. Or, more likely, Ward expected that level of betrayal. It wasn't a shock to him because hey, Garrett had been a good friend of Fury's – and look how that turned out.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Ward frowned in confusion. "Why? For being the messenger?"

Fitz glanced away, looking down at his feet before rubbing at the back of his head. "For not making sure he was dead."

At Ward's completely lost look, it occurred to Fitz that he probably had no memory of their escape. Or, if he did, it probably wasn't remotely close to reality.

"If you start to feel that chip of yours, let me know, okay?" he said, because really, Ward didn't look like he could take a zap like Fitz just had, never mind a mind wiping one from the implant.

How sad were their lives that had actually taken a back seat to their current crisis?

Ward nodded slowly, and Fitz could see the doubt in his eyes, and he could hardly blame him. Last time he'd started off a conversation like this, he'd told him about the implant in the first place – and the fact that Fitz held the same level of control over him as Angela.

"When we were escaping the lab…back when this shit all started…we ran into Zola. Well, you did." Fitz smiled faintly at the memory, and almost immediately frowned. "You were kicking ass and taking names, and then we ran into _him_ , and he had this…" he pinched his fingers together, failing to come up with a proper word for it. "Remote. He used to use it on you, like a shock collar. But that was how he took you down. And he just-"

Yeah. So much for time healing all wounds. Fitz could still picture it like it was yesterday because he saw it still in his nightmares, and even as he tried to come up with the words to describe it, he could feel his throat start to close up. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of distant explosions, the smell of copper and the screaming.

"Was that how I broke my leg?" Ward asked quietly.

Fitz risked a glance upwards, surprised he had any memory of the incident, considering he'd almost been electrocuted to death at the time.

For someone who spent most of his adult life behind a carefully constructed mask, Ward was becoming alarmingly easy to read. Or maybe it was just Fitz had spent so much time with him in less than ideal circumstances.

"I have these…flashes, these images in my head…I couldn't tell if they were memories or…" Ward trailed off. "I remember bright flashes. And I remember gunfire. And then it sort of goes white…" He shifted uneasily where he stood, the stark LED lights keeping his features in garish shadows.

Months under SHIELD's 'care' and they both still looked like crap.

"He was killing you," Fitz said softly. "He was killing you, and I shot him…but I never checked to see if he was dead. And if I had…"

Ward chuckled darkly. "Then what?"

Fitz had nothing, so he remained silent.

"So there's one more monster in a cage," Ward said, sounding flippant, but Fitz knew better. It wasn't just any monster in the cell at the Vault.

It was the monster maker himself.

"I never did thank you, did I?" Ward asked. "For saving my life."

The bright flush across his cheeks spread almost to his ears with embarrassment.

"You don't have to," Fitz said, gesturing to the cell around him with a dismissive wave. "Not sure I really helped anything. At least it's me on this side of the bars instead of you. Nice change of pace, really."

Ward gave a humorless chuckle. "Well in that case…" he coughed into his head, clearing his throat and looking away. "Thanks anyways. Maybe not for saving it, but at least considering it a life _worth_ saving. How about I return the favor?"

Fitz gestured towards the keypad lock. "How do you plan on doing that? You swipe the code?"

Ward raised an eyebrow. "No, dumbass, I brought a psychic and left her with the guard." He turned, shouting over his shoulder. "Angela! What's the key code?"

Angela poked her head around door at the top of the stairs, and seeing Fitz, gave a brief, over exuberant wave. "Hey, Scottie! Ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

"Angela!" Ward chastised. "Code, _now_."

"Mike here says it's 9241164386A."

As Ward pressed the code into the keypad, his gaze flickered to the tiny piece of electronics that Fitz had hurled across the cell. "What were you so pissed off at, anyway?"

Fitz bent down and picked it up, shoving it into his pocket as the force field dropped. "I was trying to fix something, but my tools were rather limited. I tried to get Hunter to bring me my things from the lab, but apparently I was too 'volatile'," he raised his hands, making sarcastic air quotes, "to get anything sharper than a paper clip."

"Punch the Director in the face one time, and suddenly you're a menace to society," Ward tsked. "Where did I go wrong with you?"

As soon as he stepped out of the cell, Fitz couldn't help the deep breath of fresher air.

"How long were you in there for?" Ward asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I dunno. Couple days?" Fitz scratched at the back of his head. "Not like they gave me a clock or anything, and Coulson hasn't been back down to see me since he had me thrown in there. How are his bruises?"

"Spectacular," Angela called from the doorway.

"Then probably only two or three days," Fitz reasoned. "How'd you convince them to let me out? Gonzalez basically said I was stuck there until I apologized."

Ward snorted. "Like I asked permission," he scoffed. "Besides. What are they going to do, tell me I can't? Everyone's been walking around on eggshells like I might turn them into a briquette if they say the wrong thing. As if I didn't burn my own house down more than once without super powers."

"And you have a psychotic psychic for a sister," Fitz said with mock enthusiasm. "Speaking of which…"

Fitz stopped in his tracks, craning his head around Ward to make sure Angela was still at the door.

"What's she playing at?" he whispered. "I'm like ninety percent positive she _wanted_ me in here. Was it your choice or her's to come and get me?"

"Her's, but only because I didn't know you were in lock up," Ward said, choosing his words carefully. "Look, if you're wondering if she's up to something – yeah. That's a given. She's always up to something. But so far, whatever it is, seems to bank really, really heavily on us taking her side without her needing to use her Jedi mind powers on us."

"I don't know that's a good thing," Fitz hissed, grabbing onto Ward's arm as he turned to leave.

Ward sighed. "Right now…it's not so much a choice as a lack of options. And I can't _believe_ I am about to say this, but…she's the lesser of two evils in this scenario. At the very least…she's the only person who has even a vague understanding of how to get control of this…" he trailed off, not entirely sure what to say about his new found abilities, which he hadn't even attempted to test since the hanger bay.

Fitz frowned at that. "Wow. Yeah, that _is_ pretty bad."

"Oh my God, what is taking you so long? Are you forming a knitting group? Let's go!" Angela shouted irritably.

"Think maybe we could just branch out on our own?" Fitz grumbled. "Like Batman and Robin?"

Ward snickered. "I don't think you'd appreciate go-go shorts and a cape."

"Young Justice version, smart ass. Not 1960's crap television."

(*(*(*(*(*(*(*(*

"So what did you need me for?" Fitz asked as Angela lead them through the corridors.

How in the Hell she knew her way around better than some of SHIELD's actual employees was something Fitz didn't want to consider.

"I have this theory about Grant's Hellfire abilities, I just need to double check…ah ha!" Angela turned abruptly, pushing open the door to the hanger bay.

It was relatively empty, except for a few of the grounded quinjets in for repairs. Fitz couldn't even see any of the normal mechanics that worked here, and wondered, probably for the hundredth time, what Angela was doing.

He caught Ward staring at the scorch marks on the floor from the last time they were here, and he didn't miss the faint tremor as Ward visibly shook himself free of the memories.

"So what's the theory?" Ward asked, folding his arms across his chest. "And why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

Angela huffed, rolling her eyes. "Where's the trust, brother?"

Ward raised an eyebrow, giving Angela a look that clearly stated he thought she was an idiot for even asking.

"Okay, okay…totally walked into that one. But I was talking to Earl Grey the other day, when I was helping out his wife in the lab. He said you'd been back from HYDRA for months, and you hadn't shown anything remotely close to the Hellfire abilities." She clapped her hands together, rubbing them with a sort of manic glee, and Fitz found himself stepping away from her. "At least not until you were in interrogation with the Moustache Director."

Fitz glanced over at Ward. "Does she actually know anyone's name, or is she purposely picking the worst nicknames ever?"

"Oh, quiet you," Angela grumbled, and Fitz's mouth clacked shut.

" _Angela_ ," Ward growled warningly.

"Right. Sorry. Ignore that," she said, before continuing on. "Anyway, like I said – Gonzalez, interrogation – _bam_. Pyrotechnics. So what changed? When I asked them about it, they said you'd been uncharacteristically quiet since you returned from Zola's lab. I think the word she actually used was 'mellow'. One, good on you – looks like years of anger management have finally started to pay off. But secondly, I'm guessing your abilities were activated the same way mine were. Same way Tommy's and Christian's, too."

Ward didn't look impressed, and remained impassive with his arms still folded. "Which were?"

Angela gave a half apologetic shrug. "You wanted your memories back, right?"

Fitz's head snapped towards Ward, about to ask what the hell she was talking about, but instead, Ward's eyes widened first in surprise, and then… _fear_?

"No, wait," Ward said, taking a step backwards. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"It's nothing personal," Angela said, and Fitz caught a glimpse of something in her dark eyes. Something manic. "If it makes you feel better, I have a vested interest in your survival – I'm not going to hurt you. But you know how mom was. Every breakthrough she ever made with us had one thing in common – _duress_."

Ward's eyes flashed towards Fitz, and he realized with sudden horror that Ward wasn't afraid for himself.

"Don't worry, Grant. I'm not going to do anything to your new Thomas. I'm going to give you what you wanted," Angela said, almost friendly. "The memories of how you were unmade."

And suddenly, faster than Fitz would have thought possible without being a teleporter, Angela lunged Ward. Her long, elegant and scarred fingers splayed out against Ward's temple as she hissed one terrible word:

 _"Remember_."


	35. Chapter 35

Fitz wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was really hoping for a nice, quiet catatonic state, like on those stupid sci-fi movies where the amnesiac remembers everything and just quietly passes out, or, if it was a girl, let slip one lone tear of regret at her newly recovered past.

Too bad _Ward_ didn’t know that was how it was supposed to go.

The reaction was almost instantaneous – and if he hadn’t just seen Angela duck out of the way almost as soon as she’d touched her brother and followed her example, he would’ve been a human torch.

“You _bitch_!” Ward snarled, and hurled a blast of fire so hot it burned magnesium white, and suddenly Fitz knew why Angela brought them to the hangar bay.

Science and logic: the entire hanger was designed for fire suppression if needed, the high ceilings and open windows and doors dissipating the heat that he could feel from almost twenty feet away singe the hair off his arms.

More importantly, there were a lot more things to hide behind – like the metal shipping containers and partially dismantled quinjets.

This wasn’t the uncontrolled disaster from the hangar before – Ward wasn’t panicked and unsure and desperate.

He’d seen this side of Ward before.

When he’d picked up that staff the first time.

It was fortunate Ward didn’t seem to care about him, because Fitz’s feet refused to obey his brain’s orders of _Run, you moron!_

“You _knew_ what you were doing!” Ward roared, and hurled another blast at Angela who barely made it out of the way as she dodged behind one of the shipping containers. The fiery blast hit the side of the metal, turning it to molten slag.

“Of _course_ I did,” Angela shouted back. She didn’t sound as concerned as Fitz would expect someone would if they were about to be murdered by a fucking _flame thrower._ “You think mom would let me run around loose if she knew what I was capable of?”

“You didn’t just _steal_ from me, you tried to _rewrite_ me!”

Warning klaxons blared as the smoke reached the detectors, the heat sensors set up around the building going haywire as the temperature in the hangar spiked even higher.  Fitz could see the heat shimmering in the air, radiating from melted container and from Ward himself.

“I did what I had to, to get out from under Adaline’s knife!” Angela shouted. “You or me, Grant! You can’t honestly be surprised that I chose _you_!”

“You _lied_!”

“Of _course_ I did!”

Whatever the hell Angela had done, whatever the nightmares she seemed to have uncovered, part of it was obviously knowledge on how to use the Hellfire formula, because Ward wasn’t even hesitating. Unlike Skye when she first went through her terrigenesis, there was no learning curve. He’d seen Ward in the hangar after Gonzalez had set him off, and this was nowhere near that. Those flames had been sporadic at best, the type of fire he usually associated with camping – yellow and orange and warm, and sounded like the special effects for house fires on television.

The amount of force and energy behind the blasts Ward was capable of now created momentary vacuums as the fire pulling in the oxygen from the surrounding air and fueling them enough that he was cutting through the metal of the containers.

And the _noise_.

He could barely hear over the roar of the flames. It was liking standing next to a shuttle about to lift off.

Angela neatly side stepped out of the way, pivoting on one foot like an extra out of _The Matrix_ to avoid a partial blast, and Fitz had to wonder if she was actually fireproof.

“Adaline knew the power of a deal with the Devil, didn’t she _brother_?” Angela said, spitting out the last word like it was something rotten. “I make you less of a danger, and _I_ got to go free. You didn’t _honestly_ think that she would’ve let you live if you were a failure, did you?”

Ward didn’t answer, or if he did, Fitz couldn’t hear him. Instead, he slammed his foot down on the ground, superheating the concrete until it cracked and exploded outwards, fissuring underneath the container Angela had ducked behind and exploding with such force that it sent the two-ton piece of metal flying.

“They weren’t trying to _finish_ what she started, they were trying to _reactivate_ it!” Ward swung wide, arcing the ball of flame around like a curve ball, barely missing his sister.

Fitz could tell even from here that while she seemed unnaturally concerned about being the target of her brother’s rage, her skin was beginning to look like she had a bad sunburn – turning red and cracked as it began to flake.

What was she playing at?

Angela wasn’t an idiot. In fact, she was quite the opposite – she was cold, calculating killer genius. She wouldn’t risk her own death at the hands of her pyrotechnic brother if there wasn’t something in it for her. But what could _possibly_ be her gain from chancing getting incinerated?

“ _Ward_!”

Fitz’s head whipped around at the sound of Skye’s voice and cringed.

Not only was it Skye, but it was half the team – Coulson, Gonzalez, Bobbi and Hunter and May followed behind her.

And half of Gonzalez’s private army, all armed with ICER rifles and flash gear for firefighting.

The flame retardant riot gear was what finally made it click, and Fitz could’ve slapped himself.

“Ward!” he shouted, waving his arms to get his friend’s attention, bolting for him while he was facing in the opposite direction. “Ward, it’s a –”

“ _Not another word_ , _Fitz_!” Angela snapped, and Fitz’s jaw clamped shut with an audible clack, and no amount of pulling or prying could open it.

 _No_ , he thought desperately, trying to pry his own teeth apart, but it was like they’d been fused together.

“Ward, stop it or I will!” Skye threatened, and the ground shook, echoing her threat.

Whether or not the threat had the desired effect or not, it certainly got Ward’s attention, because he whirled on her.

Maybe her training with May _did_ pay off, because she just managed to avoid the fireball thrown at her.

“This isn’t your concern, _Daisy_ ,” Ward snarled. “This is a family discussion.”

“Stop or I will _make_ you,” Skye threatened again, and Fitz saw her jaw set in a firm line, hands splayed out in combat stance.

Angela apparently didn’t have the same concerns about it staying in the family, because she said nothing – no order not to interfere, no command to go away, or not to speak like she’d told Fitz, because she didn’t care if Skye was involved. Skye wasn’t going to stop Ward.  No one was – that’s not why they were here.

They were here to watch.

This was a _showcase_.

* * *

 

“You’re welcome to try,” Ward said, turning towards her, as his skin ignited. Flames raced up his arms, and unlike the last time he’d used his abilities, he didn’t seem to fade with the more power he used.

Instead, he grew _stronger._

Any trace of sickness was gone – this wasn’t the Ward from the medical bay, barely alive and able to stand. This was the Ward she remembered first meeting.

“But you couldn’t take me when you had superpowers I was only human – unless you had a gun. So _Daisy_ …gonna shoot me again?” Ward said sardonically. “Take a good look. _This_ is what you would’ve been if your parents hadn’t lost you.”

Skye ignored him, ignored the guilty pang that she refused to acknowledge that she’d been lucky enough to stay out of HYDRA’s hands as long as she had. Away from SHIELD and anyone else that knew what she was capable of. How Coulson had taken her in and given her a purpose.

“Like we told you – we all have our traumas, Ward – and none of us turned into psychopaths,” Skye replied.

“Haven’t you?” Ward said, and his eyes flickered a hellish red. “What’s your current designation? I’m betting it isn’t _computer analyst_ anymore. All it took was a crash course from May and you turned into a sponsored member of SHIELD’s approved sociopath club. Want to know how _I_ wound up here?”

Skye didn’t really care, and before Ward could say another word, she heaved a kinetic burst towards him as she dove to the side, barely avoiding retaliatory fire from Ward.

Ward hardly twisted to the side to avoid the burst, chuckling darkly. “SHIELD had just as much of a part in me as HYDRA did – Fury wanted _Secret Warriors_. HYDRA wanted a weapon. I was a goddamn _prodigy_ but unlike _someone we know_ –” Ward cleared his throat, giving her a meaningful look. “I wouldn’t play the game. I didn’t _want_ to be a part of their plans. Do you know what happens, when you refuse your purpose? When you oppose your mother who thought she was _God_?”

Ward made a sudden parting motion with his hands, and a ribbon of white hot fire raced along the oxygen saturated path Ward created – right for her. She would’ve erupted with the concrete floor if she hadn’t used her own power to lift herself above it.

“My own mother was _afraid_ of me!” Ward shouted, and she was knocked out of the air by a series of explosions like fireworks. She hit the ground rolling and was almost instantly back on her feet, but she had barely a second before she was dodging another ribbon of fire.

In the back of her head, she knew he was holding back. This was nothing compared to the sheer force he’d been trying to kill his sister with. He wanted her off her feet, too busy running to stop and think and plan any sort of return fire because he _knew_ she wasn’t as confident as he was in her abilities. Without her gloves, she was just as likely to shake herself apart as injure him.

“When she couldn’t control me, she made _Angela_ do it for her! And you know what?”

Another volley of explosions rocked the floor, making it shake violently beneath her feet as the temperature continued to climb. Sweat poured down her face, down her back and made her hair cling to her forehead, her jacket stick to her skin like she’d just jumped into a pool. She could feel the beginnings of a first degree burn spreading across her exposed skin.

Gonzalez’s men continued to standby, weapons at the ready in case she lost, but didn’t step in. The fire reflected in their face shields masked their indifference to who the victor was.

“ _She stole everything from me_!” Ward roared, and suddenly refocused back on Angela, turning so fast she hardly registered he now had his back to her as he leveled a blast at the psychic that melted clear through one of the under repair quinjets.  “ _You made me forget what I was! _As soon as she realized she couldn’t control me like she could _you, you_ took it away from me! You tried to make me like _you_! You _soulless **bitch** , _I should’ve killed you the second I laid eyes on you!”

Angela’s sleeve briefly caught on fire, but she patted it out before it could do any real damage, and she still remained silent. Skye knew what she was capable of – all of them did. They’d witnessed it first-hand. Angela was more than capable of stopping her brother, but she still chose not to say anything.

Angela was playing him as much as Ward had been playing her.

“Ward, we know you’re angry-” Coulson tried, and even Skye could hear the reluctance in his voice. He had an ICER pistol in his hand, but he only had it partially raised.

“ _SHUT **UP**_!” Ward yelled. A quick flick of his wrist and there was another, less impressive volley of flak explosions, sending the gathered crowd ducking out of the way.

And still the temperature climbed.

Only Ward seemed unmindful of the fact that they were basically in an oven being slowly cooked to death, and Skye had to wonder how long Gonzalez was going to let this play out, but then again…he was on fire, and didn’t seem effected.

Also strangely enough…neither did Fitz.

Which meant even as enraged as he was, as much power he was forcing into keeping Skye busy and still trying to kill his sister, he could still divide his attention enough to shield Fitz from the effects of the fire.

“I was a kid!” Ward shouted, hurling a ball of fire towards Skye even as she ducked out of the way. “I was a _kid_! I didn't deserve what she put me through!”

Skye retaliated with a blast of kinetic energy from her hands, but Ward's fire seared a path through it as he charged towards her. She was a fraction of his size, and even though she'd had her powers much longer, had had a chance to practice, Ward's were white hot, fueled by rage and years of pent up aggression and came so fast it was all she could do to get out of his way. Years of life of death combat training were behind him, instead of the crash course she'd received from May and Ward himself. He had tactical knowledge, instinct and his weapon was something tangible and frightening in the most primal of ways.

And it really didn't help that she was starting to understand where that anger came from.

“I didn't deserve any of what happened to me!” Ward yelled, slamming his hand into the ground and sending a shockwave of heat across the floor. Skye managed to focus enough of her energy underneath her that she cleared the rolling flames, appearing to fly for a moment.

The hangar bay was designed to withstand the heat of a class delta fire – something hot enough to burn metal, like magnesium, or contain a possible ordinance misfire from the quinjets, but she could see the air shimmering with heat, could smell brimstone and melting insulation. The bay wouldn't hold much longer, and it seemed like Ward's rage wasn't abating any time soon.

 _This was a terrible idea_ , she thought bleakly, and wondered how the hell Gonzalez and Weaver made it sound like a good plan. The only reason she even agreed to be a diversion was to prove to Coulson, prove to Hunter and Bobbie, that Ward was _dangerous_. He wasn’t some poor abused puppy who they could adopt and ‘raise up right’. He was a human firestorm, a _weapon_ without conscience, without care and without control.

Instead, he was proving the opposite.

“That’s enough!” Gonzalez shouted, and suddenly Angela was on the offensive, running full tilt across the bay, whirling and spinning and diving as if she knew where Ward was going to aim next like an insane dance.

When she saw she was headed straight for Fitz, there wasn’t even time to yell out a warning – and she had no idea why she would even be going for him in the first place. Fitz wasn’t part of the deal.

* * *

 

Angela grabbed Fitz and shoved him in front of her as a human shield, just as Ward sent a ribbon of white hot flame towards her and Fitz was sure he was going to die until a spark of recognition flickered in his eyes. In an instant, the fire was gone – the vacuum created from the sudden dissipation of oxygen creating an almost comical pop.

Angela’s fingers dug into Fitz’s shoulders, long nails digging painfully into his skin until he was sure they were talons, not human fingers.

“That’s what I thought,” she growled, lips almost touching Fitz’s ear. “You may hate me, and believe me, _brother_ , I understand. But as much as you want me dead, you wouldn’t dare risk your friend.”

“I don’t know about that, Angela – he did throw him in the ocean,” Gonzalez said mildly. “You may not want to test that theory.”

Angela laughed, cold and brittle. “Oh, Director, you are so incredibly stupid sometimes…but I know my brother. Don’t I, Grant? Fitz is more than a friend – he’s the only other human being you’ve ever had a real connection to, isn’t he?”

She dug her nails in deeper, just beneath the curve of his collarbone and he felt her start to squeeze underneath the bone.

“My poor, _pathetic_ brother – I can’t even begin to imagine why it matters. Adaline made us into _gods_ , and all you wanted to be was _human_.” She scoffed. “You couldn’t even handle _one_ bad deed – the well wasn’t even that deep, and it’s not like you didn’t have another brother if Thomas was too stupid to climb out on his own. How you could _possibly_ be a son of Adaline Ward is a mystery not even _she_ could solve. If you hadn’t tried to kill her then, I wouldn’t have had to erase the memory of Hellfire from you.”

Angela’s grip tightened to the point that her nails were drawing blood, but she abruptly fished into Fitz’s front pocket, smiling as she found what she was looking for.

“Oh look,” she said, practically purring as she held her hand out.

Lying on her open palm, looking foreboding and innocuous simultaneously, was the tiny black remote from Zola’s creature shop.

“Looks like you’re still on wi-fi, little brother,” Angela sneered, and tossed the remote to Gonzalez who caught it deftly in one hand, looking unsurprised. She turned to look over her shoulder at the Director without releasing her grip on Fitz. “My half of the bargain, Director. I assume you liked what you saw.”

Just as suddenly as the flames disappeared, with a whoosh like a butane burner igniting, they reappeared over Ward’s fist.

“You made a deal with _him_?” Ward snarled. “I thought you worked alone.”

Angela rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. And that’s how I prefer it stay – which was never going to happen with SHIELD and the last heads of HYDRA chasing me across the globe. I wasn’t lying when I said I was invited – Gonzalez knew enough about our mother’s research to know what you were _supposed_ to be, and he wanted you for SHIELD. Just like the deal he struck with her when you were sixteen – except Garrett took off with you, and no one could get to you. Like Adaline, I know the value of a good deal with the Devil – remove the restriction on you and your Hellfire powers, and they stop chasing me. I get to keep the life I have…and you get to finally be a _real_ Agent of SHIELD.”

Even Coulson looked stunned at the revelation. Bobbie’s mouth dropped open and Hunter cursed aloud. Even May looked shocked – as much as she ever did, with her ICER pistol lowered and her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

“Why not kill him and be done with it? That’s what you’re good at, isn’t Angela?” Ward spat. “You’re willing to run the risk of him going back on his deal? All he needs is a sniper at a couple hundred yards, and you’re still dead.”

“Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘kill two birds with one stone’? I _could_ kill Gonzalez. But I rather like the idea of being _paid_ to do what I already for free. Now I get to do it for fun _and_ profit. And yes – I suppose I could order him to give me money, but that’s a headache I’d rather not deal with. Gonzalez and I _understand_ each other. It’s mutually assured destruction – I kill him, and I have to go and find another way to alleviate the boredom and still get paid; he kills me, and he loses the best field asset he’s _ever_ going to have.”

 “And you think I’m going to behave?” Ward sneered. “You think _that’s_ going to be enough to keep me from killing you? _Both_ of you? That thing has a limited range on it.”

This time, it was Gonzalez that answered instead of Angela. “It’s good enough right now. Stand down, Agent Ward, or I will put you down.”

Ward paused for a moment, before his lip curled upward in a sneer, and he raised his middle finger.

Gonzalez sighed, as if he was pained by the idea of being forced to use just base negotiation tactics such as torture, and hit the button.

Ward yelped in surprise and momentary pain, flinching hard, but that was it – nothing compared to what the remote used to do, and he blinked in surprise, the fire on his hands going out as he rubbed at the back of his head.

He wasn’t the only one surprised.

Gonzalez growled, jabbing at the button repeatedly, but nothing happened.

Fitz took the momentary distraction and slammed his elbow backwards, hitting Angela hard enough, just below the xiphoid process, that she doubled over, choking and gasping at the same time releasing her grip on his shoulder.

As soon as her grip loosened, Fitz bolted forwards, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Ward as he faced down Gonzalez and the others.

Some of them still looked shocked, especially Skye, but Coulson recovered quickly – and what that a smile of pride he saw?

Still red in the face from coughing, Angela ground out, “What the hell did you do?”

And just like that, Fitz could finally speak – her previous silencing command overridden by the question asked.

“You honestly thought I was going to keep that thing working?” Fitz snapped. “I’ve been trying to rewire it for weeks – ever since I remembered having it. Turns out all I needed were a couple of days without interruption to fix it.” He smirked. “Thanks for that vacation in the holding cells, by the way. All Gonzalez did when he pushed the button was short the chip.” He grimaced, glancing up at Ward who was staring at him with something akin to awe, a faint smile pulling at the edge of his lips. “Sorry about the zap – I didn’t get a chance to perfect it.”

He turned back to the team, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. “He’s not a weapon. And you can’t use me to control him anymore.”

Angela actually looked moderately impressed, but Fitz suspected it was more of her appreciation that he’d managed to pull one over on her than the _why_ he did it. True psychopath that she was, personal feelings didn’t play into it.

Gonzalez, on the other hand, looked apoplectic. “You think I needed a _remote_ to control him? You think I needed the _chip_?” he roared. He reached over to one of the faceless mercenaries in riot gear and pulled the man’s sidearm – not an ICER, but a good old fashioned Beretta M-9. “All _I_ needed was _you_ , Fitz! You think just because you destroyed Zola’s chip, you can’t be used to control him?”

He raised it, pointing it directly at Fitz.

“Think again!”

And fired.  


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If we go down then we go down together  
> They'll say you could do anything  
> They'll say that I was clever  
> If we go down then we go down together  
> We'll get away with everything  
> Let's show them we are better"  
> \- 'Paris', by the Chainsmokers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after many, MANY a long months, it's finally done. I'm going to be honest - I wrote this in maybe 6 hours after I had stared blankly at the same page for almost a year and a half. I haven't watched SHIELD recently because of how badly the writing on the show had gone, and it's really hard to recover a 'voice' when I no longer hear it on a weekly basis, if that makes sense. DarknessandDeath, who legit went reviewed every chapter as they read it, is a BIG reason why this actually got finished after so long. The writer's block is no joke, dudes. Also, CockyUndead let me pick her brain at all hours of how I had totally written myself into a corner and couldn't think of a way out of it. So. Huzzah! Over two hundred pages written, roughly 120k words, and BAM! It's finally done!

Fitz yelped in pain as he dropped to the floor, clutching at his leg. Blood bubbled up from between his fingers, just above and to the right of his knee at the meaty part of his thigh where the bullet tore through the muscle.

Ward’s hands immediately ignited, a snarl of rage escaping his lips before Gonzalez redirected the muzzle.

“You’re fast enough to save yourself, I’m sure, Mr. Ward. But I assure you – you are not fast enough to save _both_ of you,” he warned. This time the gun was aimed at Fitz’s head, unwavering and with his finger still on the trigger.

Ward may be fast, but the Director was right. With it aimed as it was, with his finger just shy of exerting enough pressure to fire, Ward couldn’t risk it.

Not yet, anyway.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Coulson demanded angrily, starting for Gonzalez as if he meant to beat the older man to death with his bare hands.

A round of clicks from the surrounding agents as half turned from Ward to Coulson’s small group. He stopped, inwardly cursing not for the first time about not paying enough attention to personnel changes when Gonzalez had started them.

They were outnumbered, and even in that small group they had one injured, one Inhuman and two HYDRA genetic specials – all three of whom hated each other – and three specialists, who while good at their jobs were not magic, nor were they bulletproof.

Poor odds did not even begin to describe their situation.

“The world is changing, Coulson,” Gonzalez snarled. “HYDRA was only a piece of the shit show the world has become. People who aren’t people any more are making more and they’re allying against us, and we have _nothing_ to defend against them. People who can teleport, immortals…how you can you even argue that they’re _people_ anymore? I am _done_ with watching good SHIELD agents die because of our past mistakes. I want it known that not even HYDRA’s last line of defense was enough to stop SHIELD this time. These two? Willing or unwilling, they’re stronger than anything the _Inhumans_ can throw at us. Trained by HYDRA and SHIELD’s top operatives, and their abilities aren’t _new_. Adaline wanted them as HYDRA’s weapons? They can just as easily be ours. Attack dogs belong in cages or on leashes, not allowed to wander free as if we _don’t know what they’ve done_. Adaline Ward’s chimeras are now _our_ monsters, and so help me God, if all I have to do to make sure the rest of our agents, our _people_ , come home alive is eliminate one more obstacle?”

He kept his gun trained on Fitz, but his frighteningly manic gaze slid towards Coulson.

“It’s one last sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“So your plan to save SHIELD agents is to kill more of them?” Coulson demanded. “How does that make sense?”

“I’m prepared to die for what I believe in, Agent Coulson. Can you say the same for you and yours?” The older man gave a meaningful nod towards Jemma and Skye.

Coulson felt his heart skip a beat. _Was_ he willing to sacrifice any more of his people, limited as they were, for the moral greater good? There was no option where they walked away from this unscathed. Gonzalez already proved the lengths he was willing to go to show he didn’t need the same controls Zola did to make Grant Ward do his bidding, and Coulson harbored no illusion that Ward could be kept at bay _without_ the threat of violence to Fitz. Which meant if he caved, not only was he agreeing to let Ward be used as little more than an attack dog towards anyone that Gonzalez viewed as a threat, but it also meant agreeing to let him use any means necessary against Fitz.

His two agents he’d failed the most, and it looked like his only option to make sure the others got out of this alive at all was to let them down again. Gonzalez had made no indication that if Coulson decided to make a stand the rest of them _weren’t_ expendable. Even if they were allowed to walk out of this room, there was no guarantee it wasn’t just to holding cells.

Or a firing range.

He glanced back at his team – Jemma. Skye. May and Hunter and Bobbi. Was he willing to let them die, right here and now, where their deaths would amount to nothing? As soon as they were dead, Gonzalez would keep on his current path, and there would be no one to stop him. With Adaline Ward’s chimera formula, courtesy of Angela and Grant’s DNA mapping, it would only be a matter of time before he applied it to others. Before he started making his own army of enhanced people, and started a war.

Without a miracle, he could think of no way out of this without making a sacrifice play. If he did nothing now, he could only hope that there would be a chance to do _something_ later – and that by surrendering now didn’t mean summary execution.

He met Ward’s gaze, because he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with Fitz.

Ward met his gaze evenly, and Coulson could see the moment his former agent realized that Coulson had made his decision. There was a brief flash of betrayal, but there was something else there, too. Acceptance? Understanding?

No. Neither of those were quite right.

It was vindication.

Ward knew what Coulson’s choice would be before he even made it.

He laughed softly, as if at a private joke, his head dropping momentarily and hiding his face. When he looked back up, those dark eyes were unreadable – as flat and dangerous as a shark, and Coulson half expected to be screaming class alpha fire in the next few seconds.

“So this is how it ends, huh?” he said, a strange little smile playing across his lips. “With a bang _and_ a whimper.”

And just like that, the room exploded.

&^&^&^&^&

Ward wasn’t an idiot. He knew what the options would be in whatever standoff Gonzalez was going to create before he’d even fired the gun, and _knew_ what Coulson would conclude. At least Coulson was nothing if not predictable. He would always protect those that he thought no one else would, or ones that couldn’t do it themselves.

He wasn’t sure if he was pissed that once again, Coulson was leaving him to save himself, and oddly flattered that he trusted him enough to know that Ward would protect Fitz, even when Coulson couldn’t.

If he was going to do something, it had to be fast, and it had to be accurate, or none of them were getting out of this alive.

When Angela had unlocked whatever mental block she’d installed decades ago – it wasn’t like recovering memories, like something long forgotten suddenly remembered. There were no more missing pieces. No more abstract sensations or disjointed nightmares indistinguishable from reality. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, he _knew_ what he could do, how to do it, and _why_.

He wasn’t a mistake.

He was a _prodigy_.

He’d outstripped Angela’s abilities when they were children. But unlike his older siblings, he couldn’t be _made_ to do what he didn’t want to do. And he didn’t want to attack people he didn’t know. Didn’t want to be a part of their ‘family’ of HYDRA operatives and heads and subterfuge. He was _good_. And Adaline couldn’t abide an ungrateful child who couldn’t be bothered to do as he was told. Especially not after the first fire that wasn’t an accident.

The failure didn’t lie with him – it lay with Angela. A thirteen year old that didn’t care about fine tuning or details or repercussions. Mom says jump – you ask how high. If she told you to be a safety lock on your thermonuclear brother so he wouldn’t be able to use the gift _she gave that thankless little shit_ , then you crammed all of the memories and knowledge of it into a piecemealed box, and tried to tweak the fundamentals of a personality you didn’t understand yourself.

He’d forgotten all of it. Including how much it hurt with her untrained and uncaring fingers in his brain, severing bits and pieces of him to make him a little more _her_ and a little less _him_. But people could not be _unmade_ , and the patch was sloppy at best. Given enough time, and he would dig out the box of memories all on his own, whether he realized it or not.

And as much as he hated her for it – for _all of it_ , he couldn’t find fault in her logic. Cold and cruel as it was, she was simply the product of Adaline Ward. And unlike Christian, she played the game just long enough to make her own way out. She never came after him. She simply let it be survival of the fittest, and stayed as far away from him as possible. 

But.

 _But_.

She wasn’t on the sidelines anymore. She wasn’t some faceless player on a board he wasn’t invested in.

As Coulson and Gonzalez  sniped back and forth to one another over moral right and lawful evil, Ward made his own decision.

And _really_ hoped Fitz wouldn’t be mad.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

The first explosion was simply a distraction. Enough of a bang to knock everyone nearby off their feet, because honestly, he couldn’t be sure hitting them with anything hot enough to kill them wouldn’t _also_ make every piece of munition they had on themselves explode. And explode in unpredictable directions.

He focused mostly on Gonzalez and his itchy trigger finger, concentrating the level of oxygen up his arm so the fire race upwards along his sleeve. Instinct with fire wasn’t to clench your muscles, it was to splay them out or let go of whatever you thought was hot, and the Director didn’t let him down.

With a yelp, he dropped the gun almost in Fitz’s lap as  he used his other hand to try and bat out the flames.

“ _Stop them!_ ” he shouted, yanking off his burning jacket and hurling it on the ground. “ _Take them alive_!”

 _Oh good_ , Ward thought. At least he hadn’t overestimated his own importance. There had been a brief moment he considered what would happen if Gonzalez gave the order to shoot them instead of capture, but he hadn’t dwelled on it. Dead was better than back to being a puppet.

Most of the hanger was already in flames thanks to his and Angela’s showdown earlier, and the air thick with smoke, the heat radiating in waves that made things almost impossible to see through the haze.

The heat didn’t bother him, though. He could even keep his clothes from burning if he concentrated enough on keeping the heat and the flames away, and he could keep the worst of it away from Fitz until he could get him standing.

Tactics, first, he reminded himself.

The nameless hired muscle for the Director weren’t a primary concern for him. Well, other than the fact that if they got too hot, they were going to turn into human IED’s, which he had no interest in sticking around for, but most of their clothing was at least flame retardant, if not fireproof.

The ground shook, and he risked a glance over his shoulder to Skye, hands splayed out and a look of grim determination across her face as she less than delicately kept the soldiers off their feet.

Maybe there was hope for his Rookie after all. 

And he had to believe that Coulson would concentrate on getting the others out of the literal line of fire, and if he didn’t – well, Bobbi and Hunter were pretty smart. They would prioritize Jemma and Skye’s escape over helping him with Fitz. At least, that’s what he was banking on.

He could barely make out his sister through the haze, but he could hear her coughing and choking on the super-heated air and smoke, but when she met his eyes through the haze, he saw her eyes narrow in anger.

He’d ruined a perfectly good thing she’d set up for herself.

“You should’ve seen it coming!” he shouted.

“Why do you think I gave you that hatchet job when we were thirteen?” she yelled back. “You’re going to wish –“

Ward didn’t let her finish. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to get his homicidal sister monologuing, and he wasn’t about to give her a chance to use her powers.

Not ever again.

Because Grant Ward was nothing if no vindictive.

Angela’s shriek of pain was cut abruptly short as the fire seared its way across her vocal cords. Once pale and beautiful skin blistered, cracked and blackened with surgical precision across her neck.

Killing her would’ve been merciful. Powerless, but with all the secrets of HYDRA and Adaline’s lab in her head? The secrets she’d once so carefully collected and hoarded as she made her way through life like a human hurricane were no longer an asset. No longer a bargaining chip. They were, however, every reason for Gonzalez to keep her locked in the Vault with all of his other dirty little secrets.

Let’s see how she liked having someone dig through _her_ head for once, Ward thought grimly.

“Ward!”

He spun back around, barely managing to catch Fitz as the younger man stumbled to his feet, tenderly holding his weight off his injured leg.

“I gotcha,” he assured, keeping one arm underneath Fitz’s shoulders as he leaned heavily against him. His leg was bleeding, badly, but not immediately life threatening. If Fitz was up, it meant no femoral artery perforations, and he wouldn’t be even half this stoic if the bullet had hit the bone. A quick check saw the exit wound. Gonzalez wasn’t a half bad shot for a politician. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Like I’ve been shot in the leg,” Fitz snapped, hopping slightly to steady himself.

The hangar was in shambles. The floor cracked and heaved underfoot from Skye, and it was only a matter of time before the munitions from the quinjets blew sky high.

They needed to get out, fast, but he also didn’t want to leave without making sure Coulson and his team were out of danger. He may have his issues with them, but they were _good_ people. Even Skye and May, given half a chance. And Coulson was the closest thing to someone giving a damn about what happened to him in his life in years.

“Go!” he shouted, pointing back towards the hangar entry, towards the reinforced bunker of SHIELD’s headquarters.

“What about you?” Coulson protested, even as he backed towards the door. The heat was getting more intense, enough that it was beginning to singe their skin, making them look like they’d been in the sun too long. Gonzalez’s goon squad came prepared for a firefight – they would outlast Coulson’s agents, and none of them came armed to take on the small army they were facing off against.

“Don’t worry about us!” Ward said. He pulled Fitz closer as he tried to focus on keeping the heat at bay. He couldn’t do it for long, and he couldn’t manage it for Coulson’s team, but at least Fitz wasn’t in danger of becoming a briquette. “I’ve got him!”

Coulson’s face faltered, a strange sort of emotion Ward couldn’t readily identify flitting across it. “Ward, _don’t_ –”

“ _Get out of here!_ ” he interrupted, and used a blast of heat to _make_ him stumble back. “ _Now_!”

Because they had more than just the fire to worry about. They had to worry about Agent Weaver, wherever the hell she was. They had to worry about how many more of SHIELD’s agents were actually _Gonzalez’s_ agents. They might have more of a fight ahead of them than they even realized, but at least right now, no one knew for sure what the hell was going on here.

“Ward –“ this time it was Skye and Ward wanted to scream. _Now_ she wanted to talk to him?

“Beat it!” He set off one if the fuel containers, the force of the blast forcing her to drop her hands and flinch away, long enough that Hunter grabbed her around her waist and forcibly dragged her back with him.

Thank god for Hunter.

“Do you actually have a plan for getting us out of here?” Fitz asked.

Ward glanced up at the ceiling, and back to the quinjets. “Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it.”

Fitz coughed. “No surprise there.”

Ward turned the two of them towards the emergency hangar exit when something slammed into him, grabbing around his waist like a linebacker tackle and slamming him into the ground. Fitz was knocked back and away from them, yelping when his injured leg hit the ground.

Ward didn’t even have a chance to process what the hell just happened when a fist slammed into his face, breaking his nose and tearing up his eyes and making him reel. Another blow and another and another rained down on him with vicious ferocity, but the weight pinning his arms to his sides wasn’t heavy enough for Gonzalez.

Through tears and blood, he could make out burnt, once radiant raven hair and sunburnt skin. Angela may not have her power anymore, but that didn’t make her weak. Another blow rocked his head against the concrete with a crack and everything…stopped.

He felt disembodied. Like nothing worked. Like his body wasn’t his own. It didn’t _hurt_ , per say, it just felt _weird_. Dimly, he was aware that was _not_ a good sign, but it didn’t really connect, either.

Angela’s skin was bright pink and starting to blister, her face twisted into a hideous, silent snarl and Ward thought he smiled – now her outside was as beautiful as the rest of her.

And was probably the last thing he was going to see.

She pulled her fist back again, prepared to finish the job their parents started years ago when there was another crack. Angela toppled backwards without a sound.

He felt little more than if he’d watched a character die on a movie screen.

“For the record, that makes _twice_ I’ve shot people for you,” Fitz grumbled. He tucked the pistol down the back of his waistband as he leaned carefully over Ward. He must’ve picked up either Gonzalez’s dropped weapon, or one from the drones. The details were still a bit blurry, and he was having trouble trying to convince his hands to move to wipe the blood and tears from them but he could tell Fitz was worried.

“Uh… _wow_ …” Fitz gulped convulsively. “That’s a lot of blood. How many fingers?”

The shape was obviously the younger man’s hand less than a foot away from his face, but Ward had to squint anyway.

“Three,” he slurred triumphantly.

Fitz shrugged. “Close enough. On the count of three, I’m going to get you up, but Ward, you have to make some effort of your own, yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

As Fitz lifted him it was entirely too clear the damage Angela had managed. His movements were disjointed at best, his balance non-existent. He leaned heavily on Fitz’s already overburdened left side as the shorter man tried to keep as much weight as possible off his injured leg.

With his head propped up because he was leaning against Fitz, he could see Fitz, too, was beginning to show signs of the heat.

Which meant Ward wasn’t focusing enough to keep the fire at bay.

There went _that_ escape plan.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” Fitz wheezed. Smoke stained his face, sweat darkening his shirt and making his skin tacky.

 _Yeah_ , Ward silently agreed. _It probably is_.

The fire was everywhere – even Gonzalez retreated back towards the bunker doors with the few of his goons that remained, and was now between them and any thought of escape.

He tried to focus on what he _knew_ he could do, tried to will his brain into long forgotten practice keeping the heat away. Maybe _he_ deserved to go up in smoke – hell, it would practically be poetic – but _Fitz_ didn’t. The only reason Coulson had left him behind was because he trusted Ward to take care of him.

He shook his head, regretting it almost instantly when it sent a spike of agony straight through his brain, but it seemed to work. A little bit, anyways. The world wrenched itself back into sharp focus, and he _made_ himself force the heat back.

Fitz gave a short lived sigh of relief, before cursing.

Gonzalez hadn’t gone far – and even Ward could tell he was yelling at the fire brigade to fix the obviously malfunctioning fire suppression system. In a matter of minutes, the Halon and AFFF extinguishers built into the ceiling would smother the flames, and they would be right back to square one.

Gonzalez’s prisoners.

Human experiments.

 _Weapons_.

“Did you mean it?” Fitz rasped.

“What?”

“You’d rather be dead than go back to that?”

No need to specify what _that_ was. They both knew damn well.

Just like they both knew damn well what Ward’s answer would be.

Would always be.

He gave one quick, decisive nod.

“Me too,” Fitz agreed. And he pulled the pistol from the back of his waistband and fired at the nearest munition container.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. There's an epilogue. Also, feel free to come find me on Tumblr as disappearinginq! It's a nice way to talk without having a whole conversation in a review line!
> 
> Also. 
> 
> Ahem.  
> #wardlives and #istandwithward


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Epilogue. And I didn't even wait MONTHS to post it. Onwards!

 

The explosion that killed Ward and Fitz was powerful enough to shake the entire bunker. The smoke tower could be seen for miles, and it took the better part of two days to put out the flames. A week to go through the rubble.

Any human bodies were long gone after a fire that hot and that prolonged. Even the shells of the quinjets were hard to identify after that kind of blast.

The only reason both Agents Leopold Fitz and Grant Ward were officially declared dead was the last few moments of security footage Skye managed to hack after their escape. The moment Fitz levelled the handgun at the munitions canister Jemma screamed, clapping her hands over her mouth as he pulled the trigger and the camera was destroyed.

At least they were finally free of SHIELD, and the long arms of HYDRA.

The same could almost be said for Coulson and his remaining team.

Bobbi, Hunter, Jemma, Skye, Mack, and May. That was all that really remained of the heart of SHIELD. They were collecting more and more with every passing month, but Director Fury remained frustratingly silent against Gonzalez and his actions. SHIELD split even further – Coulson trying to retain what he thought was the true meaning of the agency, while Gonzalez used tactics like fear mongering and deep rooted hatred of all things different (because  _different_  is  _dangerous_ , boys and girls). Gonzalez may not have the actual initials SHIELD in front of his shadow organization, but that didn't stop his recruitment.

More concerning was how  _effective_  it seemed to be. No official numbers were known, but at least half of the remaining SHIELD after the HYDRA coup already sided with him, and fear was a more compelling reason to join than the chance to do good in the world. Coulson's team had been lucky to escape in the commotion after the fire and explosion. At least Skye had wiped all of their computers. And Jemma had taken all of their genome profiling from Angela and Ward.

They alone had Adaline's Chimera formula.

But Gonzalez remained in control of the Vault, which meant he had the monster maker himself – Zola. Assuming he'd kept the man alive, anyway.

Coulson sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem off a building headache.

Most days were good. They were finding more and more Inhumans thanks to the terrigen contamination, and Skye and May were doing admirably well trying to find ways to teach them to use their powers, while Jemma and Bobbi worked on possible cures for the members who didn't want them at all. Mack and Hunter were in charge of recruit training, and Coulson had to fight the urge to laugh every time he saw them break out their 'good cop, bad cop' routine (which was really more Abbott and Costello, but who cared? Dark days needed a bit of levity).

But some days?

Some days all he noticed were the things he lost. The people he'd failed.

The top of the list were Fitz and Ward.

And he hadn't just failed them in the hangar. The list of sins started a long time ago – not noticing how unhinged John Garrett had become. That he'd asked a largely untrained engineer to go into the heart of a HYDRA base because he hadn't wanted to risk Skye – even though she'd had field training  _and_  her Quake abilities.

He could understand the choice they made. He'd heard Fitz say it often enough – he would rather kill Ward himself than let him fall back into the hands of people like Zola. Hell, he'd barely stopped him the first time Fitz had tried. Maybe this was the way it was always going to end.

He scrubbed a hand over his face before sifting through the mail – they'd tried to stick to paper as much as possible after Stark pointed out how easy it was for him to get into SHIELD's systems. Not even Skye's net security could keep his sticky fingers out.

As he flipped through the stacks of memos, bills (because not even SHIELD was exempt from paying the electric) and other letters he didn't want to deal with at the moment, a brightly colored postcard fell from the stack.

There was no return address. The stamp had been overlaid several times by courier stamps and marks from various countries. The picture on the front was a non-descript tropical paradise, with crystalline blue waters and grass roofed cabins on stilts over the calm sea.

The only thing written on it, in neat, precise block handwritten lettering, were the words 'you're right – it is a magical place.'

It took a second for him to make the connection. He wondered if it was stupid even to hope he was right.

"Those bastards," he whispered, chuckling as he flipped the card back over again. "They stole my line…"

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: IT'S DONE. This seriously is a landmark for me - my first long fic FINISHED. This started when I was in the Navy and has dragged on through civilian life. This thing has a lot of personal milestones for me, but really, it's because of you guys that I worked on this. It took so many twists and turns and additions I hadn't planned on - like Hellfire? Totally decided that on a whim. That entire scene wasn't going to exist - it had an entirely different twist it was going to take, but then I don't know what happened, and it just EXPLODED. I was even going to end it waaaay back at like chapter...12, or right after they were rescued and they were sort of on the mend. But nope. Nope. Stupid thing ran away AGAIN. And then I got sucked into writing an alternate series, which wasn't my intention, since this was a one shot. Seriously. That's why the first chapter is first person point of view. But here's the deal - I wanted to finish it. This part, anyway. However - for any future reference, this is totally an open sandbox to play in. If you want to use it as an A/U, go right ahead, just let me know (so I can go and read it). There may, MAY be a sequel in the far and distant future. Many moons ago I mentioned introducing Thomas, but you know what? This thing was already longer than I expected. So he gets reserved for that. Anyway. Thanks for hanging in there, everyone! I love you, I'll miss you, feel free to drop me a line and tell me what you thought!


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